


Shore Leave

by ibohemianam



Series: Chaconne [6]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: New Republic Era - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Cassian Andor Can't Keep His Pants On, Domestic, F/M, Fluff, Gratuitous nudity, jyn's spatula
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-10-03 23:20:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 25,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10261250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ibohemianam/pseuds/ibohemianam
Summary: Many, many years into an uncertain future, Cassian and Jyn live together in a time of peace... of a sort.“Give me my clothes,” he demanded, beginning to shiver, feeling around behind him for the sheets.“Get them yourself,” Jyn replied, enjoying this immensely.“Extortion,” Cassian grumbled balefully.He sat up slowly, defeated, and blinked blearily, pawing exhaustion from his eyes. He blinked again when he found Jyn’s face less than a breath away from his.“Welcome home,” she said with a tooka-cat grin.The Latest:There are many of his memories in Shara's closet.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This sort of just happened.
> 
> Gratuitous nudity included.

Kes burst through the door.

“Oh _fark!_ ” he yelped, turning around so quickly he stumbled, “ _Put some clothes on!_ ”

“ _Get the fark out of here, Dameron!_ ” Jyn shouted.

“Fark!” Kes shouted, hands pressed to his face, “Fark! Fark! My eyes!”

“ _Get out!_ ” Jyn roared.

“I’m going!” Kes shouted, lurching for the door, “I’m going! _Fark!_ ”

The door slammed shut behind him. A stray sheet of flimsi fluttered off Cassian’s desk.

“Oh fark,” Jyn moaned, slumping back into her pillow.

Cassian grunted unintelligibly, face pressed into his pillow, blaster clutched in his hand.

Jyn pried it away and set it down on her nightstand, fumbling among the sheets for her clothes, unsurprised when she looked around and found them folded neatly on his nightstand.

“Pardon me,” she whispered, reaching across him for her things.

He shivered as skin touched skin but remained otherwise unmoved, doing his best to smother himself in an effort to avoid the aftermath of such ignominy.

Jyn dressed quickly, glancing at her wrist chrono on her nightstand.

“It’s late,” she murmured into his ear, “Should probably get up.”

“Kill me now,” he mumbled.

“Sorry,” she replied, squeezing his shoulder and running a hand lightly down his back.

He shivered again.

“Please don’t leave me alone to do damage control,” she said, “I might shoot him.”

Cassian sighed and slowly pushed himself up. He was still red. Very red. Jyn smiled, pressing a hand to his cheek, before reaching down and flinging the covers away.

“Ugh,” he grunted intelligibly, curling away and slumping back into his pillow.

She pulled that away as well, letting his head thunk to the mattress.

“You--” he said thickly, glaring up at her, arms wrapped around himself, “--you, _woman_.”

“I’m really glad we’ve got that figured out,” she said.

“Give me my clothes,” he demanded, beginning to shiver, feeling around behind him for the sheets.

“Get them yourself,” Jyn replied, enjoying this immensely.

“Extortion,” Cassian grumbled balefully.

He sat up slowly, defeated, and blinked blearily, pawing exhaustion from his eyes. He blinked again when he found Jyn’s face less than a breath away from his.

“Welcome home,” she said with a tooka-cat grin.

He sighed and stood, shivering.

“When did I--”

“--get back?” Jyn finished, staring him slowly up and down, “About four this morning.”

He groaned, blearily scanning the room for his clothes. His shirt hug haphazardly from his desk chair, his trousers from the footboard.

“What time is it now?” he groaned, face pressed to his hands.

“Just past seven.”

He groaned again.

“It is _not_ late, Jyn,” he moaned, sagging back into bed.

She retaliated by shoving her ice-cold feet under him and wriggling her toes.

He swore and stood again, lurching away.

“Ah, _fark_ ,” he grunted, hand pressed to his crotch, “Where are my pants?”

Jyn shrugged.

“Fark,” Cassian said coherently, “I’m going to shower.”

He staggered across the room to the ‘fresher, clumsily pushing his way in and not quite closing the door behind him. Jyn heard the water start.

She eyed the crack in the door. It was tempting.

But she sighed and dredged up some pity in her hard, cold soul and dug through the sheets for his underthings, pulling them out with two fingers and flinging them into the large pile of dirty laundry that had grown by the door in his absence.

Rifling through his dresser, she pulled out a clean set of clothes and, grinning, burst into the fresher.

Cassian glared balefully at her from behind the transpariplast shower door.

“What is wrong with you?” he demanded, dark, wet hair hanging in his eyes.

“Nothing,” she replied cheerfully, plopping his clothes down on the narrow counter and sitting on the lowered toilet lid, “I can’t be happy to see you?”

He grunted a little more charitably and resumed the long, painful process of drowning himself awake.

Jyn observed him for a moment, found nothing indicating anything more than exhaustion, and, satisfied, stood and began her morning routine. She was halfway through brushing her teeth when he finished his shower, looking considerably more awake. She reached out and tossed him her towel--the man appeared to own just the one towel he took with him whenever he was out on assignment, something she realized she should probably remedy--and stepped aside so he could shave at the sink. He vigorously toweled himself dry, smacking her accidentally a few times in the tight space, before wrapping it around his waist, entirely oblivious to the fact that this was _her_ towel and so considerably smaller than his.

Jyn didn’t mind.

She spat around him into the sink as he lathered up with an expression of deep satisfaction. Jyn was also satisfied. He’d looked like a small, partially shaved Wookie cub last night, but today, under the dim lights of the fresher, he looked more like one of those sleezy old panhandlers ubiquitous across the galaxy.

She hopped into the shower while he took the sink, looking more and more like himself with every stroke of his Force-damned razor.

He said it was tradition that kept him shaving with what amounted to a naked knife blade, but Jyn knew it was because General Cassian Andor, unsung hero of the Rebellion and current commander-in-chief of the base on Yavin 4, was secretly an incredibly vain man.

She had caught him grimacing more than once at the mirror when the grey had first started coming in. She had also, just once, seen him without a beard in an ancient picture Shara had once framed and displayed proudly on her mantelpiece before he’d spotted it and demanded its removal. Jyn understood. Clean-shaven, he could pass for thirteen, fourteen standard, with eyes as wide as dinner plates and pointed, delicate features as feminine as they were strong.

She finished showering before he finished shaving and waited until his razor was clear of his face before leaping out and snatching at the towel around his waist because she’d once surprised him in the middle of a particularly tricky-looking stroke up the underside of his jaw, and she swore that was why he’d started growing a full beard--to hide the scar.

As it was, he only sighed and shifted his hips, allowing her to reclaim her towel and dry off. She almost slipped back into yesterday’s clothes before realizing they’d have to do laundry anyways since he’d just returned from his terribly over-extended trip to Chandrila, so she stalked back into their room and pulled on her last set of clean underthings, scrounging around for a clean shirt before giving up and tugging one from his immaculately-organized dresser. He raised an eyebrow when she returned to the ‘fresher but said nothing, snatching the towel out of her hand and patting his face dry.

“Much better,” she said, reaching around him for the hair dryer.

He smiled crookedly at her, looking exponentially more awake--and _alive_ \--than he had been half an hour ago.

“Put some clothes on,” she said in mock exasperation, “You wouldn’t want to be giving anyone any ideas, would you?

“Why?” he asked, voice still husky from sleep, “It’s just you.”

Jyn rolled her eyes, feeling a smile creep across her face as she switched on the hair dryer.

Pointedly, he reached for his toothbrush.

They watched each other, and warmth spread through her at this simple comfort, this easy familiarity they had worked so hard to find. She knew he was thinking the same thing. Nudging him over so she could see herself in the mirror--hung just low enough for her and just high enough for him--she kept her shoulder pressed to his arm as she dried her hair. He was warm through the thin fabric of his old shirt.

He bent forward to rinse his mouth out in the sink, and she switched off the hair dryer, sticking it back onto its shelf and quickly sweeping her hair back into its eternally-functional bun, frowning when a few flyaways sprang free.

She found Cassian smiling down at her again, deep lines at the corners of his eyes wonderfully familiar--and real.

“I missed you,” she found herself saying.

He bent and kissed her gently.

“I missed you too,” he replied.

They leaned into each other again for a long moment.

When she thought emotion would drown her, she said, “What the fark are we going to do about Kes?”

He hummed, considering.

“Lock the bedroom door next time?” he asked, smiling again.

“I still can’t believe you gave him keys to our house.”

“You know that he doesn’t really doesn’t need them, right?”

She sighed. None of them needed keys, really. That was the occupational hazard of being and living with a former spy and having an ex-commando and his flying ace of a wife as next-door neighbors.

“Yeah,” she replied, pulling a look to show she wasn’t being serious.

He closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. She felt his raw need for this simple closeness and rested against his chest, hands clasped loosely around his waist.

“I guess we should go see what he needed,” he said into her hair.

“In that case, you should definitely put some clothes on,” she said, drawing back a little and looking up at him.

He raised an eyebrow, and though weariness still wore heavily in the shadows under his eyes, his voice was light, teasing.

“You wanted them off badly enough last night,” he said.

“It’s not like you were stopping me.”

“I don’t even think I was completely conscious,” he admitted, pulling away and reaching, at last, for his clothes.

“Well, that explains a lot.”

He paused just long enough to trip over his pants and into the shower door.

Jyn laughed and left him with that, sweeping out of the ‘fresher.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here are some [notes](https://ibohe.tumblr.com/post/158336371366/shore-leave-chapter-1).


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassian decides Jyn needs to learn how to swim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter would be a lot more meaningful if you've read [Chapter 3](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8875372/chapters/20372011) of _Sacrifice_.

“No,” she said.

“Yes,” he replied.

Jyn stared at him, eyes narrowed.

“I’m serious,” Cassian said, “It’s a necessary skill. Could save your life.”

“No,” Jyn snapped, turning back to her datapad, “I’m busy.”

Cassian crossed the room in a few quick strides and snatched it from her hands.

“No,” he said, tossing it carelessly onto the sofa, “You’re not.”

Jyn looked up at him.

“ _Cassian_ ,” she groaned.

He stepped closer.

“It’s either you learn now, when it’s just the two of us,” he said, “Or you learn at the base pool in front of everyone else because Leia’s coming back around on sabbatical in a few weeks, and she wants to go up to the lake.”

“What if I just want to sit and watch you guys?”

Cassian shot her a look of fond exasperation.

“When have you ever just wanted to sit and watch anything?”

And, with that, he knew he had her.

Triumphantly, he slapped a wetsuit onto the table in place of her datapad.

Jyn eyed it with distaste.

“It’s one of Leia’s,” Cassian said, “She won’t mind.”

“Meaning you didn’t ask.”

Cassian shrugged.

“It’s either this or nothing.”

Jyn looked back up at him.

“I don’t know if I should be flattered or insulted.”

“Whatever makes you feel better. Put it on.”

Cassian smirked.

Jyn sighed.

* * *

“I feel ridiculous.”

“You don’t have to walk like that,” Cassian said, stifling a laugh as she emerged from the ‘fresher, “It’s not that tight.”

Jyn glared at him, entirely disgruntled.

“It _is_ that tight. I feel like I’m going to explode out of this thing.”

Cassian smiled and heaved a large rucksack onto his shoulder.

“Ready?” he asked.

Jyn eyed the rucksack.

“The fark’s in that?” she snapped, “Looks like you’re running away from home.”

“Food,” Cassian said blandly, turning for the door.

“Food,” Jyn repeated.

“Picnic,” Cassian clarified, out on the front lawn, tossing the rucksack into the rear seat of their speeder and heaving himself into the cockpit with a grunt.

“Picnic,” Jyn repeated, climping stiffly up after him.

“You’re sharp today,” Cassian said mildly, revving the engine and pulling them away smoothly into the air.

Jyn grunted and sat back in her seat with a scowl. Cassian smiled.

With one hand on the controls, he reached out with this other arm and rested it across her shoulders. She squirmed a little just to show him she was _not pleased_ , then settled back into it, leaning her cheek against his hard shoulder.

She felt him smile.

They didn’t speak on the short flight to Lake Vidre, but they rarely did in these short moments of breathing. Content, they rested together in the steady hum of the airspeeder, certain, at the very least, of each other.

Cassian laughed, loud and clear, when she staggered out of the speeder with none of her characteristic catlike grace.

“Shut up,” she snarled, tugging at the legs of her borrowed wetsuit, “You _know_ Leia’s a good stone lighter than me.”

Cassian cocked his head in that playful way he had, looking terribly young and happy as the wind ruffled his hair.

“I think,” he said with forced detachedness, scanning the deserted shoreline out of hard-won instinct, “That I will remain neutral on the topic.”

Jyn glared at him, sweeping her hair out of her eyes with an irritated hand.

Cassian turned back to her and smiled, which was still such a rare and beautiful thing that she couldn’t help but smile grudgingly in return.

“I _will_ say, however,” he murmured, stepping closer to her, “That it fits you _perfectly_.”

She slapped his shoulder. Hard.

“You’re such a _man_ ,” she muttered, crossing her arms in an attempt to conceal some of the curves she’d never really felt comfortable _exposing_.

Cassian huffed gently and took her hand, tugging her down to the shore.

“You’ve really never swum before?” he asked, stopping just as the sand firmed beneath their feet, damp and cold. Her toes curled.

“Of course not,” she replied, looking up at him, “When would I have had time to learn?”

He shrugged, a mischievous light in his eyes.

“Whatever you’re going to say,” she snapped grumpily, “Don’t.”

His hand tightened around hers, and he smirked.

Jyn looked out at the glimmering lake, smooth and flat under the late morning sun. She almost thought she could smell the sharp, bitter tang of blaster discharge.

Cassian dropped her hand, stepping back for a moment to tug his shirt over his head, folding it and setting it neatly down the dry sand behind him, well above the tide line. His trousers followed, and Jyn shook her head.

“You’re so ridiculous,” she said.

“Thank you,” he replied, pulling her further down to the water, hands warm and hard against hers.

“Why don’t _you_ have to wear one of these?” Jyn grumbled, following reluctantly.

“Don’t need to,” he replied, eyes fixed on her.

“Oh I _forgot_ ,” Jyn said acidly, “You learned to swim before you could walk. Forgive me.”

“It’s not just that,” he said conversationally, spinning around so he was directly in front of her, walking backwards, “This--” he plucked the wetsuit at her arm and let it go with a wet _snap_ that earned him a yelp and another slap, “--This,” he repeated with a laugh, “will keep you warm.”

“What, and being born half fish makes you immune to cold too?” She twisted out of his hand quickly and poked him in the stomach. “I don’t see very much insulation down here.”

He flushed, as he always did when reminded that most considered a grown man cavorting about in his underpants either fairly indecent or fairly… desirable.

She laughed at his expression, but that quickly turned into a curse when a frigid wave of cold washed over her feet. Cassian, grinning again, tugged her further in.

“ _Fark_ ,” she gasped as another gentle wave lapped up against her knees, “Why’s it so cold?”

“It’s not,” he said drily.

She glared at him.

“This is far enough, thanks,” she said, digging in her heels as water splashed around her waist.

“No,” he said, simply pulling harder and leading her deeper.

“ _Cassian_ ,” she yelped again, “Cassian, this is farking ridiculous. I’m a grown woman.”

“Who doesn’t know how to swim,” Cassian said, pausing for a moment to reach around her and tug the hood of her wetsuit over her head.

She glared at him, shivering, when he was done.

“Great,” she scowled, “I feel much less ridiculous now.”

“You’ll thank me later,” Cassian replied.

With dismay, Jyn realized she was in well up to her chest while the water hardly lapped around his waist.

She looked up at him.

“I hate you,” she said.

“Thank you,” he replied, very amused.

Thankfully, they had stopped moving, and he stared at her for a moment, as if remembering something else.

He probably was.

She waited patiently.

When he blinked down at her apologetically, she gripped his hands tighter.

“So,” he said roughly, “This is a lake.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Thank you,” she said trenchantly.

He smiled crookedly at her.

“A freshwater lake,” he amended, “No salt. Putting your head under will be like taking a bath.”

Jyn stared down at the water lapping at her chest.

“Fine,” she said.

“That wasn’t a question,” he said drily, “But I’m glad you agree.”

Jyn sighed.

Without warning, she twisted her hands out of his grip and tackled him under.

It was cold. It was very cold. She felt him react instinctively, regaining his feet and reaching for her in the same motion.

They emerged, spluttering, at the same time, and Jyn found herself bobbing gently up and down, water right at her neck, toes barely scraping the rocky lake bottom.

Cassian swung his hair out of his eyes with a wet slap. He glared at her.

“What,” he growled, gripping her firmly, “Was _that_ for?”

“Can we--” she gasped as a small wave slapped her in the face, “ _Please_ just get this over with? I don’t care if this is a lake or an ocean or a _pond_. Or if there’s salt. It’s all just water. I don’t like water.”

Cassian sighed, muttering something to himself in Scryllic that sounded Jyn was reasonably sure meant something along the lines of _I should have known_.

“Fine,” he said, shifting her hands to his shoulders, “Hold tight. And--em” he thought quickly, “You want to be looking down, at the bottom, not at me.” She spat some water in his direction, and he responded by stepping back a little more so her feet came off the ground completely. “And--” was he _still_ talking? “Don’t bend your knees too much when you kick. Just a little. Point your toes.”

“Too many instructions,” she gasped, arching her back and fluttering her legs.

He laughed again, and she felt his shoulders shake beneath her hands.

“Yeah,” he said reassuringly, “Like that. Relax.”

“Fark--” she grunted, “You.”

“Put your face down,” he said, “In the water. It’ll be easier.”

She scowled but took a breath and stuck her face into the water, eyes closed, chin tucked to her chest.

She hated him. It was easier.

When her breath ran out, she lifted her head again, gasping out air.

He was laughing again.

“Breathe,” he said reassuringly, “Breathe out slowly when you’re under, through your nose. Make bubbles.”

“ _Bubbles?_ ” she wheezed, “You’re really talking about farking _bubbles!?_ ”

“Try it,” he said.

She did. It helped.

“Okay,” he said when she came up for air again, “Good. Good.” He peeled one of her hands from his shoulder with a wince and settled it a little lower, grimacing again when she latched back on like a very small wampa with very sharp claws. “Let’s just try floating. No kicking. Relax.”

“What?” she gasped.

“Float,” he said, “It’s easy. Take a break. Just face down, chin down, look at the bottom--and float.”

“‘ _It’s easy_ ,’” she mimicked his accent, “‘Just face down, don’t drown.’”

“Funny,” he said.

She swore at him and took another breath, forcing her legs to still. She drifted.

And then made the mistake of opening her eyes.

A panicked shout burst in a stream of Force-damned bubbles from her mouth, and she inhaled a lungful of water, sharp and suffocating. She felt Cassian’s arms settle around her waist and tug her up, taking her weight against his chest.

Head breaking the surface, she coughed wetly, inhaling huge gulps of air.

“Hey,” Cassian said quietly, cradling her, “Easy. You’re fine.”

She coughed again, spitting water.

“We--” she choked, nose burning. She turned for the shore and found it only distantly. “It’s so _deep!_ ” she shouted, “There’s no _bottom_ to look at!”

“Oh,” he said, frowning as if he hadn’t thought of that, “It’s just a lake, so it’s not that deep. But I thought--” he caught the look on her face and sighed. “It’s fine,” he said, cautiously letting go of her and bringing his arms behind hims to carve out large, slow circles, “Don’t worry.”

She realized she was sitting on his stomach.

“A little warning next time,” she said with forced mock severity.

“Sorry,” he said genuinely.

They looked at each other for a moment, and Jyn crossed her arms.

“This is nice, though,” she said, leaning cautiously back against his chest, “I could get used to this.”

“Ugh,” he grunted, right next to her ear.

She lay there, feet trailing in the water, rising and falling steadily with his chest as he kept them afloat. She closed her eyes briefly, the sun warm on her face, and remembered a different embrace, a different beach, a different ending.

“Hmm,” he hummed, rumbling against her shoulder, “You ready?”

She sighed and opened her eyes.

“No,” she said.

Gently, slowly, he maneuvered himself upright again, placing her hands on his shoulders as she slipped back into the water.

She kept her eyes fixed on his.

“I’m not scared,” she said.

“I know,” he replied, gripping her hands tighter.

* * *

She felt like they had been out in the water for hours when he looked apologetically at her and said in an oddly strained voice, “Let’s take a break.”

“Thank Force,” she moaned.

He smiled faintly and took her hands, turning and placing them on his waist so she was facing his back.

She didn’t stare at the scars because she’d seen them before.

Instead, she watched the water stream over the pale, knotted flesh and felt--again--a vague, nebulous anger as muscle shifted under skin under finely-tuned cybernetics.

He carefully set her down on her feet when the water reached his chest, steadying her, taking her hand again and leading the way back up the beach. She realized he was tired and ashamed of it when he stumbled in the soft sand and nearly went to his knees, free hand straying to his back with a sharp hiss.

She didn’t say anything, only waited for him to stand again and continue.

Wordlessly, they returned to the speeder, and she twisted out of his grip again, springing up into the rear seat to retrieve his rucksack. He made a brief face when she shouldered it, ignoring his outstretched hands, but sighed in the end and followed her a little ways away down the shore, limping slightly.

She stopped under the shade of his favorite jaffa tree and crouched in the sand, dropping his rucksack with a vaguely suspicious clank and tugging it open. He was very manfully struggling not to shiver, she noticed, so she hurled the first towel she found in his direction, tugging out the second for herself.

She tugged the hood of her wetsuit down with a wet slap and a sigh of relief, rolling her neck and burying her face in the warm towel, realizing it was his. Glancing over at him, she watched him carefully dry himself off, vigorously towelling at his hair and leaving it standing in small tufts not unlike little, dark jaffa trees.

She smiled at him before turning and reaching back into the rucksack, rummaging around a neatly-folded change of clothes for her, assorted picnic paraphernalia, and--this almost, _almost_ gave her pause--a compact blaster, before finding his underthings at the very bottom. She yanked these out unceremoniously and flung them at him as well.

“Are you trying to tell me something?” he asked drily, carefully laying her towel out in the sand and gingerly removing his underpants from his face.

“Yes, that I’m not going back in there again today,” she said, unzipping her wetsuit halfway with some impressively acrobatic shoulder contortions.

Cassian looked at her doubtfully, obviously reading her as easily as she was reading him.

“I’m fine if you want to go back out,” he said stubbornly, or as stubbornly as one could whilst standing on a beach in one’s wet underpants.

“This was your idea,” she snorted, managing to unzip herself the rest of the way, batting away his helping hand, “If I’d had my way, you know I wouldn’t have gone out in the first place.”

He looked away with a faint frown as she tugged her borrowed wetsuit off. She watched the sharp protrusions of his shoulder blades shift uneasily, followed the gracefully curving hollow in the middle of his back down past the thick scars into the damp waistband of his pants, followed that curve down the backs of his legs, thin and reedy, always ready to run, to bolt.

She tugged her shirt on, then her trousers.

“ _Cassian_ ,” she said sharply, hoping to snap him out of whatever brown study had claimed him.

He jerked around, eyes wide.

“Get changed before your arse freezes,” she said pointedly, “It’s looking a little--clingy.”

He flushed again-- _this man_ \--and turned away, yanking down his wet things in a rush and all but diving into his dry pair of pants.

She knew he knew she was watching because he refused to look at her when he was done, meticulously setting out his wet pants to dry.

“You’re so ridiculous,” she said fondly.

“I feel exposed,” he replied.

“It’s about time,” she snorted, dropping onto her towel and diving back into his bottomless rucksack for food, “Why don’t you ever wear proper swim things? I think even Admiral Ackbar had his eye on you last time you showed up at the pool.”

Cassian shrugged, drawing his knees to his chest and watching her pull things haphazardly out of his bag.

“Is it a Scarif thing?” she asked bluntly, hurling a package of sliced bread at his face, “To just walk around in your pants all day?”

He snatched the bread out of the air without pause, which meant he really was getting entirely too used to her.

“No,” he said with another shrug, “It’s just the easiest thing to do. Why should I have to have another set of clothes just to swim?”

Jyn looked pointedly at her borrowed wetsuit, crumpled in the sand.

“Well, you Core Worlders are different,” he said blandly, neatly laying out the bread, “Thin-skinned.”

“Meaning we don’t all have the hide of a bantha,” Jyn retorted, wrenching open a jam jar, plunking it down, and spraying sand everywhere.

Cassian made a face and gingerly shook out a slice of bread. Little bits of sand flew into his lap.

“Sorry,” Jyn said.

Cassian sighed, reaching across her into his rucksack and pulling out the rest of the picnic materials.

He frowned down at the bread as he assembled the sandwiches. Jyn, stretched out on her side, watched him work, watched the delicate bones in his hands shift and settle, shift and settle.

“What do you think?” he said suddenly, reaching for the jam jar.

“About what?” Jyn frowned, unscrewing the cap on her old canteen and offering it to him.

“No thanks,” he said, “About Scarif,” he clarified in the next breath, a slight edge to his voice, “You think it’s a place where we walked around in our pants all day?”

Jyn paused, canteen halfway to her lips.

“Cassian,” she said, “It was a joke.”

“Maybe all the men had really long beards and many wives,” he continued, “And we’d never seen a starship before so when the Empire came we all just stood and stared and threw spears--”

“-- _Cassian_ ,” Jyn snapped.

He inhaled sharply, slapping jam onto another slice of bread.

“At least,” he said after a long pause, “That’s what the Empire would like everyone to think because nothing good can ever come out of something that’s as _backwards_ as we were.”

Jyn watched him carefully, sipping at her canteen.

He handed her her sandwich with a vague sense of apology.

“Thank you,” she said.

They looked at each other, sharing another one of their loaded, measuring stares that made her feel like she could drown and she wouldn’t notice.

He carefully screwed the jam jar shut and leaned back with a grunt against the jaffa tree.

“Eat,” Jyn demanded, when he made no move to touch his food.

“Later,” he said, staring moodily out at the lake.

Jyn sighed.

He ignored her, stretching out on his back, arms crossed over his eyes. She let him doze, chewing contemplatively on her sandwich, with all the extra jam he had piled in there, just the way she’d always made them.

“You know what I miss most?” he said suddenly, low and quiet.

Jyn looked over at him.

“What?” she asked.

“This,” he replied, arms still braced over his eyes.

“This,” Jyn repeated slowly.

“Yeah,” he said, “This.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is what happens when you’re a full-time student, part-time gig musician, and semi-competitive runner with a full-time job and a writing obsession. 
> 
> Insanity.
> 
> That being said, I'm still taking requests because, well, insanity.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jyn can’t cook. But she tries (she really does).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should probably mention (again) that these bits are in no way chronologically ordered.

" _What_ ,” Cassian demanded, stopping short in the doorway, “are you doing?”

She glared at him, stabbing an aggressive spatula at the stove.

“Cooking,” she snarled.

Cassian looked from her and her bewildering weaponization of cooking utensils to the side of bantha in the pan on the stove.

“What,” he repeated.

“ _Cooking_ ,” she spat.

He swallowed.

“Is that…” he took an uncertain step into the kitchen, struggling and failing to find words. “Is that… frozen?”

“Yes,” she snapped.

His darted a glance at the temperature controls on the stove. Everything was on high, including the unoccupied burners. He looked back at the solid hunk of bantha meat and weighed his options.

“You should probably defrost that first,” he said cautiously, taking another step closer, as if approaching a wild animal.

“What?” she growled.

“Here,” he said, stopping by the stove, “Let’s turn these off--” he snapped off the burners and carefully rescued the bantha meat, dumping it, still frozen solid, onto a plate he quickly snatched from the cupboard. He set the pan back down on the stove and turned, very slowly, to look at her.

She held her spatula upright, inches from his nose.

He looked down at her and clenched his jaw. Hard.

“Don’t,” Jyn snapped. The spatula trembled threateningly. “Don’t you _dare_.”

He bit his lip.

“ _Cassia_.”

“I’m sorry,” he choked out before a full-throated laugh burst from somewhere deep in his chest. Her gaze turned murderous, and he stepped forward again, wrapping his arms around her shoulders, both because he’d been waiting to do that all day and as a measure of self-preservation, trapping her spatula between them.

“You _farking_ \--” Jyn pushed at him half-heartedly, voice muffled, “I was _trying_.”

“Yeah,” he said around his laughter, “You really were.”

“Stop _laughing_ ,” she grumbled, “And let me go. I can’t breathe.”

He squeezed her harder, leaning back and lifting her feet off the floor. She swore and kicked him in the knee.

He put her down.

Still laughing, he stepped back and watched her, flushed and embarrassed and angry about being flushed and embarrassed.

“And you say I’m the romantic one,” he said fondly, still gripping her shoulders, very aware of her dangerously-waving spatula.

“I wasn’t trying to be _romantic_ ,” she snapped irritably, shrugging him off.

He dipped his chin and raised his eyebrows.

“No?” he said lowly, leaning closer.

“No,” she said defiantly, glaring up at him, “I just thought you’d be back late today, and I’m not a farking _deer_ , I can’t _graze_ like you do and live off of _hope_ and oro sticks.”

“And whisky,” he added with a crooked smile.

“And farking _whisky_ ,” she snarled, throwing up her arms, “I’m _hungry_ , okay? And I swear if I see another of your farking kebroot leaves, I’m going to _shoot_ something.”

He laughed again. She smacked in in the shoulder with her spatula. It hurt, but he kept laughing anyways, reaching up to the cupboard and yanking it open.

“Here,” he said, pulling down a box of noodles, “Let’s start with something a little easier.” He glanced at her. “You know how to boil water, right?”

She hit him again.

“I’m confiscating this,” he said, plucking the spatula from her hand and tucking it cheekily into the back of his trousers.

She glared at him but took the small pot he offered and filled it halfway with water from the sink, plunking it down on the stove and turning on the correct burner.

“Lid on,” Cassian said drily.

Jyn slammed the lid into place.

He reached into the conservator and pulled out a small carton. Jyn eyed it warily.

“These,” Cassian said, holding the carton up for her to inspect, “Are eggs.”

“Fark you,” Jyn said murderously.

Cassian smiled, quick and sharp, and handed her a smooth, brown egg.

“Yeah?” he asked, setting a bowl down before her.

“No,” she admitted sullenly.

“Here,” he said, taking an egg for himself, clutching it between his forefinger and thumb, “Like this.”

With a sharp snap of his wrist, he split the shell neatly on the edge of the counter and spilled the egg into the bowl, neatly stacking the two remaining halves of the shell beside him. Jyn looked at her egg dubiously. Cassian raised his eyebrows.

Jyn tapped the egg tentatively on the counter.

“A little harder,” Cassian said drily.

Jyn sighed and tapped again, pulverizing half the shell and dropping the whole thing into Cassian’s bowl.

“Typically,” Cassian said delicately, “We try not to have eggshells in our eggs.”

“Fark you,” Jyn muttered.

Cassian handed her a fork.

“You’ll like this,” he said, “Beat them.”

Jyn took the fork and curiously stabbed an egg yolk.

“Beat,” Cassian said, “Don’t play.”

Jyn bumped him roughly with her hip, and he smirked, taking down a small pot of oil from the cupboard. She watched him dot a few drops around the small pan that had previously housed a large shank of frozen bantha meat and turn the heat on low. Humming quietly to himself now, he reached around her for the conservator again, withdrawing two little plastene containers, one containing chopped onions, the other chopped tomatoes and grated cheese.

He caught her glance and said, “I’m not letting you anywhere near a knife in here.”

She rolled her eyes and beat the eggs a little harder. He dropped a pinch of salt into her bowl and turned back to the stove.

He held out his hand above the pan, palm up. Satisfied, he dropped half the onions in with a sizzle, plucking the spatula out of his trousers and prodding them around.

“For flavor,” he explained, looking down at her foaming and thoroughly beaten eggs. He pointed at the pan. “Pour,” he said.

She poured the eggs into the pan, and he handed her the spatula.

“Scramble,” he instructed.

She looked at him blankly. Smiling again, he pulled her closer to the stove and stood behind her, chest pressed to her back, one of her hands in each of his. Leaning into her hair, he said quietly, “Left hand--” he brought their hands to the pan handle, gripping it around hers, “--here. Right hand--” he rearranged their fingers around the spatula and made a simple scooping motion, “Like this.”

Jyn leaned back into him, warm and full.

He briefly let go of her to drop a few handfuls of cheese and tomato into the pan, but he took her hand again to finish scrambling the eggs and pour everything out onto a waiting plate. By then, the water in the pot had begun to boil, so he pulled off the lid and shook out a quarter of the box of noodles and instructed her to stir while he dug around in the conservator again, pulling out a half-forgotten jar of sauce that he set about warming.

“When did you learn to do all this?” Jyn asked curiously as they stood side-by-side at the stove, shoulders brushing, hips touching.

“This in particular?” he replied, gesturing to the noodles, “Or this in general?” he gestured at the kitchen.

“The second one, I guess,” she said, dutifully stirring.

“Growing up,” he said, and she knew immediately that he was talking about Scarif, “Everyone helped with cooking.” He hesitated, then added, “It was a family thing.” He reached up into the cupboard again and brought down two plates, skillfully pouring two slightly unequal measures of sauce onto each.

“Leia told me that you used to cook for her father?”

Cassian laughed softly, turning and setting the empty pan in the sink and letting the water run for a moment.

“You make it sound like I was his personal chef,” he said, scrubbing the pan clean and setting it back down on the warm burners to dry, “It was just a few times, a casual thing.”

He returned to her side, standing so close she could hear his quiet breathing.

“I think that’s done,” he said, reaching around her to shut off the heat, “You okay here while I get cleaned up?”

Belatedly, she realized he was still in uniform.

“I’m not going to set the house on fire, if that’s what you’re worried about,” she said, craning her neck back to look him full in the face.

“Good,” he huffed, pressing a quick kiss to her hair and turning for their room.

She watched him disappear down the hall, tugging his tunic over his head with a weary sigh as he went. Painstakingly, she spooned out the slippery noodles, portioning them equally across both their plates. When he returned, clad in dangerously loose sleep pants and an overlarge shirt that had probably once belonged to Kes, he laughed again at what she was doing and pulled a plastene bowl with miniscule holes--a _bowl with holes_ \--down from the cupboard and had her dump everything in there instead, taking the pot and washing that _immediately_ before joining her at the table with a large bowl of chopped ruica mixed with cold-cut ham.

“Congratulations,” he said, tipping his glass towards her, “Your first meal. Tastes better, yeah?”

“ _Much,_ ” she said, rolling her eyes.

He smiled fondly at her.

“I want to learn,” she said, "To cook."

Cassian raised an eyebrow.

“Oh?” he said.

“Yes,” Jyn replied primly, “Any suggestions?”

“What do you want to learn?”

She thought for a moment.

“Meat,” she said, “I want to cook meat.”

Cassian snorted, leaning back in his seat, “I think you need to learn how to crack an egg first.”

Jyn shrugged.

“Anything’s better than self-heating meal packs,” she said.

“That’s not really saying much,” Cassian replied, “But I agree.”

Jyn ate voraciously. Cassian picked at his noodles, washing them down with several glasses of some strong, dark wine. Breaking habit, they lingered together, communicating more through glances and casual touches than spoken words, content, in a way, to just rest and just _be_. But, as had increasingly become the case, the night wore on, and he became a distant, brooding presence, staring into his glass, avoiding her eyes. She waited for him to return to her, waited for him to remember that the past had been put in his place. When, after a long period of heavy silence, she realized he wasn't going to, she stood and pushed him back into his seat when he rose unsteadily to help clear the table.

“Sit down,” she said, “I’ll take care of it.”

“Jyn--”

“ _Sit_ ,” she snapped, snatching the wine bottle away from him along with the rest of the dishes. He eyed her warily and followed her back into the kitchen, wordlessly drying their few dishes and returning them to the cupboard.

He turned to face her in the empty kitchen then, lit only by the dim glow of the light from the dining room. She tugged the shoulder of his old standard-issue thermal from Hoth back into place, eyes dark and hungry.

“So,” she said quietly, “What now?”

Against his will, he stepped towards her.

“You have any suggestions?” he asked thickly.

“Do you?” she asked, moving towards him, face cast in shadow.

He swallowed.

“Not meat,” he replied cogently, head spinning as he breathed her in, “Meat can wait.”

She reached up to kiss him but stopped short at the thick weight of alcohol on his breath.

“You're drunk,” she said.

"I'm not," he said.

"You had four glasses and two noodles. You're drunk."

"I'm not," he repeated.

"Cassian," she said, "This needs to stop."

"I'm not," he said.

She looked up at him, at this strange, broken, beautiful man, even as he withdrew from her, frightened and ashamed. 

"Cassian," she said again, taking his hand. She reached up and swept the hair away from his eyes, felt him shiver, "I want to understand."

He closed his eyes and swayed towards her.

"If you don't mind," she said.

“I don’t mind,” he breathed, leaning into her arms, “I’ll never mind.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's notes [here](https://ibohe.tumblr.com/post/158417647671/shore-leave-chapter-3).


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another lazy morning in the Erso-Andor household. Cassian can't keep his pants on.

Jyn didn’t understand how Cassian had lasted so long as a spy.

She watched him stumble into the kitchen, pyjama bottoms hanging low on his waist, hair sticking up in unruly, greying tufts, gently curling down his neck. He looked so soft, so small, blinking owlishly at her with dark-ringed eyes, that she smiled.

“Did I,” he said thickly, squinting at her, “forget my pants again.”

“No,” she said, pushing a cup of caf across the table, “I’m just wondering how you ever functioned on your own.”

He blinked again, struggling and failing to wrench himself into gear. With a sigh, he dropped into his seat across from her, inhaling his caf in four large gulps. She watched him stare away out the dew-frosted window over her own mug.

“You slept late last night,” she said.

“Sorry. Yeah,” he grunted, grinding the heels of his hands into his eyes, “Still adjusting.”

A week in hyperspace had been nothing to sneeze at, even in their twenties. Now, though, she could see how it wore that much more heavily on him. Chin propped in his hand, he stared blankly at her.

“It’s good to be back,” he said, and she reached out, taking his other hand in hers.

He smiled faintly, running his long, slender fingers along the creases of her palm. She wrinkled her nose and withdrew, ticklish. She finished her caf and cocked her head, looking up at him.

“Plans for today?” she asked.

He shook his head wearily, fingering the overlong wisps of hair at the nape of his neck.

“I’m just so tired,” he admitted with a tinge of embarrassment.

“You’ll have to cut your hair soon,” she said instead, “It’s getting long again.”

He made a face.

“That’s the only thing I miss about being in Intelligence,” he said, “Casual grooming standards.”

“Nothing’s casual about your grooming standards, Cassian,” Jyn snorted, “You take longer than I do in the ‘fresher.”

He shrugged boyishly, one bare shoulder coming up to brush his ear.

“Did you want to do anything?” he asked, leaning against the window, eyes closed.

Jyn watched him soak in the light, watched it warm him and breathe new life.

“You up for a walk?” she asked.

“Mmm,” he hummed, eyes still closed.

Jyn sighed and stood, reaching around the table and taking his hand.

“Come on,” she said, tugging, “You need to get changed.”

He cracked an eye open lazily and smiled, yanking on her hand sharply and pulling her, off-balance, into his lap.

“You’re ridiculous,” she said, sprawled in his arms, looking up at him.

He leaned down and kissed her, long and lingering. She pressed her hands to his chest, relishing the warmth of skin, and leaned into him.

He should have been a terrible spy, she thought, because she could feel everything he was thinking, spoken without words. She drew back, smiling, and crawled back to her feet, tugging him up with her. He groaned as his knees popped loudly, but he followed, free hand going to the waistband of his pyjama bottoms, yanking them back up around his hips.

She frowned over her shoulder at him.

“These stretch in the wash,” he said, soft eyes dark crescents as he smiled again at her, “I promise.”

“You need to eat more,” she replied, pushing him back into the bedroom before her.

He grumbled uncharitably about her cooking, hastily shutting his mouth in mock fear when she stepped threateningly towards him, brandishing a pair of his trousers in one hand, his belt in the other.

“Your cooking is delicious,” he said apologetically, snatching them away before she could fling them across the room--that was a strange habit of hers he’d never understood.

He pulled a clean shirt from his dresser and tugged that on over his head.

“It’s cold today,” Jyn said archly.

He pointedly tugged on an old knitted jumper that had once belonged to Kes but had shrunk in the wash.

“Happy?” he said, turning to her.

“Almost,” she replied.

He huffed a sigh and tugged at the tie of his pyjama bottoms--he’d really need to find time to take in the waist because this was ridiculous--and blinked a little.

“Guess you did forget the pants,” Jyn said drily.

He grunted, sitting on the cold sheets of their bed and kicking his feet out of the legs, picking up the discarded clothing and folding them meticulously at the foot of his bed.

“Do you have to fold _everything?"_

It was a familiar question.

“Hmm,” he replied, plucking a pair of underpants from his dresser and tugging them on, following these with his trousers and belt.

He frowned down at himself.

“You weren’t joking,” he said in confusion, looking up at Jyn, who, lounging against the fresher door, watched him haughtily.

“Aren’t you supposed to get fat when you get old?” Jyn asked.

“I think so?” he replied, sitting again and tugging on his socks.

Jyn sighed loudly.

“You’re just a freak of nature,” she said.

He stood and faced her, grinning.

“So what does that make you?”

* * *

Poe Dameron, thirteen years old, looked up from his careful tending of the Dameron family’s Force-sensitive tree as the rear door of the Erso-Andor house burst open and Cassian darted out, laughing, onto the back porch, ducking as Jyn hurled his other boot at his head. The former spy caught it easily, propping his hands cockily on his hips as Jyn stormed out after him, her own shoes raised threateningly in her hands.

“‘Morning, Uncle Cass!” Poe called, grinning.

“Hey, Poe!” Uncle Cass replied, waving.

He grinned at Jyn, who threw up her hands and muttered something inaudible--probably swearing at him again--and sat down on the top step of their porch to pull on his boots. Poe trotted over.

“Hey Jyn,” he said, looking up at them.

“Auntie Jyn” had never been a thing with her, not because she and Uncla Cass weren’t married, but because, well, Jyn wasn’t so much an “Auntie” as she was a hells-raising, bantha-slaughtering wampa tamer.

She still scared him a little sometimes.

Not that he would admit to anything.

“Hey Poe,” Jyn replied with a thick note of exasperation.

Poe knew by now that she and Uncle Cass worked better together than apart, so he was happy to see his uncle back. No one liked it when either of them was sent out on assignment. It always inevitably meant a cranky second half left behind and drove Poe’s pap crazy.

“Where’re you guys headed?” Poe asked.

“Just out for a walk,” Uncle Cass replied, tying his laces and standing, descending the steps so they were a little closer to eye level, “Your pap around?”

“Nah,” Poe replied, “He went down to the prop’. Market day.”

“Ah,” Uncle Cass squinted over his shoulder at Jyn, suggesting he was still a little jumbled from his trip, “Is it Benduday?”

“Yeah,” Jyn replied, joining them on the damp grass.

Poe was sure that he’d be as tall as she was in a few months, but it wasn’t like he was going to be pointing that out to her any time soon.

“You didn’t go with him?” Uncle Cass asked, cocking his head.

“Nah,” Poe replied, shaking his head, “I get to fly Ma’s old A-wing tonight if I get stuff done around the house.”

Uncla Cass grinned proudly, with just an edge of sadness.

“You’re going to be great, _nen_ ,” he said. He’d stopped reaching out and ruffling Poe’s hair when he said that a while ago, probably because he thought Poe wouldn’t like it anymore, but Poe missed it, just a little.

“ _Gràcies_ ,” Poe replied, also grinning. He remembered being very small, maybe five or six, and and sitting down to his first Scryllic lesson, Uncle Cass on one side, his mam on the other. He’d worked hard at it, knowing somehow, even then, that it was something important to two of the most important people in his life.

Uncle Cass smiled faintly, looking away out over the clearing, being sad for a moment in that way he did when he thought no one would notice. Jyn reached out and took his hand, and he looked down at her, his smile getting bigger and--Poe thought--a little more real.

“It’s good to have you back, Uncle Cass,” he said genuinely.

“ _Gràcies, nen_ ,” Uncle Cass said, and this time, he did reach out and ruffle Poe’s hair, “It’s good to be back.”

Poe watched them set out across the grass, which glittered still with morning dew, and pictured his mam and pap in their place.

It was a dim picture, and growing dimmer, but it was still there.

It was still there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's notes [here.](https://ibohe.tumblr.com/post/158459193836/shore-leave-chapter-4)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassian needs a haircut. Jyn happily obliges.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A brief detour from previously-planned angst.

“Please be careful,” Cassian said nervously.

“ _Stay still,_ ” Jyn snapped, pressing both hands to his shoulders, “If you keep moving around like this, I’m just going to end up taking it all off.”

He froze solid then, glaring at her in the mirror. She opened and closed her scissors several times for effect.

“Why’d you have to wait so long?” she asked, running her free hand through his gently curling hair, “It’s almost as long as mine.”

“It's not,” he grunted, remaining very still as she started snipping around the back of his neck.

“Yeah, but if it wasn’t for the beard,” Jyn said, “You’d really just look like an older, grumpier version of me.”

“Thank you,” Cassian replied drily.

“Oops,” she said suddenly after a particularly loud _snick_.

“ _What_ ,” he spat, hand flying to his neck.

She laughed at the horror on his face.

“Nothing,” she said, placing her hand on his cheek and turning him back around to face the mirror, “Just wanted to see what you would do.”

He glowered at her, wet fringe hanging in clumps over his forehead.

“That’s not funny,” he growled, flinching again as she resumed her snipping.

“Yeah,” she said, grinning down at him, “It is.”

It was strange to be this tall, she thought, standing on Cassian’s office chair, peering down at the top of his head in the confines of their ’fresher.

“You want it like you always had it, right?” she asked, “Kind of like--” she gestured to the nape of her neck, “--right here?”

“Yeah,” he said, adding quickly, “But since my hair’s wet, you’ll want to leave it a little longer because it’ll curl when it’s dry.”

“ _It’ll curl when it’s dry_ ,” Jyn repeated in a vague mockery of his voice, “Yes, sir.”

Cassian sighed.

“I can’t believe you used to have Kaytoo do this,” she said, moving further up his scalp, pretending she knew what she was doing.

“He was very good.”

“An Imperial security droid cutting your hair?” Jyn shook out a clump of hair from her scissors. “That’s really something else to add to your mysterious past.”

He scowled at her.

“Stop making that face,” she said, “It’s your own fault you waited until the last minute to get this done.”

Cassian sulked in tense silence, eyelashes twitching with every snick of her scissors.

“Careful with the part,” he said quickly as she moved further up, “It sticks up in the back if you cut it too short.”

“Will you just let me finish?” she snapped, “I’m all you’ve got right now, so you’re just going to have to deal with it.”

He subsided into surly silence, hands gripping the edge of the sink.

She snipped irritably away, dropping some--lukewarm, she checked with vicious satisfaction--water from her caf mug down over his head to dampen his hair. He shivered, leaning forward a little so he wouldn’t drip all over the floor, a noble but futile effort, considering the amount of hair she'd already flung to every corner of the small ’fresher with each shake of her scissors.

“Why do you care so much about your hair, anyways?” she asked after a while, “It's such a stupid thing.”

He almost turned to look at her--always his first instinct--but she gripped the back of his neck, and he settled for a very careful shrug instead.

“That,” she said, “And this--” she prodded his bearded cheek, “--ridiculous thing. If you spent half as much time every day sleeping as you did on your _personal grooming_ , you wouldn’t be so grumpy all the time.”

“I’m not grumpy,” Cassian protested, frowning.

Jyn tugged on a lock of hair.

“Yes,” she said as he winced, “You are. You’re a grumpy old man.”

He muttered rebelliously under his breath and carefully brought his wrist-chrono up to eye level.

“We need to leave in ten minutes,” he said.

Jyn reached down and pulled his wrist up so she could see.

“Fifteen,” she corrected confidently, “I can get us there in an hour.”

“I still need to shower,” Cassian said, trying to look up at what she was doing to his fringe and going cross-eyed instead. He blinked rapidly. “And do my _personal grooming_.”

“You should just shave it off,” Jyn said. At his scandalized look, she amended, “The beard, I mean. It’ll make you look younger.”

He grunted, reaching carefully out to the counter for his shaving cream and razor.

“Really?” Jyn asked, “You’re going to shave while I’m cutting your hair?”

“I,” Cassian muttered, “Am a man of many talents. Or so you say.”

Jyn snipped emphatically at the hair around his ears as he lathered up.

“Hey,” she said after another few minutes, tugging on his hair to get him to look, “Is this okay? Or shorter?”

Cassian reached up and ran his fingers through his fringe, smoothing it off to the side.

“Perfect,” he said, looking up at her.

“Really?” she frowned, “It looks kind of long.”

Cassian reached up and swatted her scissors out of the way, turning left and right, checking his reflection in the mirror. He ran a hand up his scalp to check the length, then tilted his head all the way back until they were nearly face-to-face.

“It’s a good thing it’s an outdoor ceremony,” he said, swiping a finger through his shaving cream and depositing a clump on her nose, “I get to wear my cover.”

“ _Fark you_ ,” she snarled, ducking as he poked another finger at her cheek. His office chair wobbled precariously backwards on its wheels, and he turned just in time to catch her around the waist as it spun out from under her.

“Well,” she said, sprawled in his arms, “That was dramatic.”

“Sorry,” he said genuinely, eyes warm and vaguely apologetic, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she replied. He stared at her. “Cassian,” she said, “You can let me go now.”

He stood quickly and turned back to the sink, reaching for his razor again.

Jyn watched him shave for a moment, then shook her head, muttering something that sounded vaguely like _hopeless romantic_ under her breath before stalking back out of the ’fresher, dragging his chair along as she went.

Cassian watched the door close behind her and waited for her to reappear again, satisfying himself in the meantime with the delicate stroke of razor on skin.

She poked her head back in just as he was climbing into the shower.

“You wearing your whites or your blues?” she asked.

He tripped over the sill in surprise and nearly fell on his face, only just managing to brace his arm against the wall and keep himself upright.

“Ah,” he blinked, “Blues.”

She scowled at him.

“Privilege of rank,” he said cheekily, turning the shower on.

He washed quickly, mostly just ducking his head under the water and scrubbing thoroughly, watching stray strands of grey and brown swirl away down the drain. Checking his wrist-chrono, he made a face and hurried out into the bedroom, dumping his dirty laundry into the hamper and drying himself furiously with an old bath towel.

Jyn was at the mirror, tugging her dress uniform into place with an expression of utmost distaste.

“I hate this thing,” she muttered.

“You look fine,” he said, brushing by and planting a quick kiss in her hair.

She glanced slyly at him, hopping around three-quarters naked, trying to get his other foot into a stubborn trouser leg.

“So do you,” she said, “I particularly like the hair.”

Cassian shot her a wry grin and finally managed to pull his neatly-pressed trousers on, yanking his shirt from its hanger and threading his arms through the sleeves. He returned to the mirror, fumbling with the buttons until she slapped his hands away, undid them, and sorted him out.

“Thanks,” he said, tucking in his shirttails and straightening his collar. She handed him his belt, a thin, ceremonial strip of ridiculously rich Sullust leather that she was certain he would wear on a daily basis were it not for the fact that it wouldn’t support the weight of his blaster.

She knew it wouldn’t. She’d seen him try.

He threaded this through his belt loops, perhaps sensing her amusement because he looked up at her, hair still damp, and cocked his head in question.

“You enjoy this,” she said, tossing him his boots, “Admit it.”

He smirked, sitting and stuffing his feet into the polished black boots, securing them tightly just above the ankle and pulling his trouser legs back over them.

“I’m just glad I don’t have to wear _that_ ,” he said, gesturing at her, and by proxy, the monstrosity that the New Republic committee called a dress uniform.

“ _Thanks_ ,” she grumbled, straightening her belt, “They still feel like pyjamas.”

“We’re the New Republic,” Cassian said easily, straightening again and rummaging around in his dresser and pulling out--she _knew_ it--his shoulder holster, “We have to provide an example for the galaxy in all areas.” He smirked at her again. “Including fashion.”

“That’s not regulation,” she pointed out as he slung the holster around his shoulders, “Some example you’re setting, _General_.”

He shrugged, turning away and keying in access to the massive lockbox bolted to the wall.

“You’re being ridiculous,” she continued as he pulled out the palm-sized holdout blaster he’d constructed himself some years ago.

“Can’t be too careful,” he replied, slamming the lockbox shut again and jamming the blaster into its holster at his side, securing the straps with nimble fingers.

“If you’re going to bring that, you should wear your formal whites,” Jyn said, resigned, “They’re longer and won’t show off the fact that you’re carrying around a blaster at what’s supposed to be a celebration of peace.”

Cassian hesitated, and having seen the holos from his time on Alderaan, she understood his hesitation.

“Leia won’t mind,” she said, yanking open his closet door, “I think she’d appreciate it, actually.”

Cassian looked at her a long moment.

“I’d have to change trousers,” he said finally.

Jyn turned and threw up her hands.

“It’s regulation,” Cassian said cheekily, hands going to his belt again. Then, infernally, he hesitated. “But I don’t know if it’s appropriate that--”

“-- _Fark_ , Cassian,” Jyn snapped, reaching into his closet and hauling out, from the very back, the formal whites Leia had had tailored for him after he’d assumed command of Base One, “Just put them on. It’s pretty much an open secret now that you were Bail’s spy in the Senate.”

“Leia was Bail’s spy,” Cassian corrected, toeing off his boots and unbuckling his belt, “I was just there to keep an eye on her.”

“Same thing,” Jyn said, holding out his white trousers, also neatly pressed.

He took them with a grunt and a grimace at the chrono, sliding into them easily and snatching the appropriate belt--which was just thick enough to support the holdout in its holster without drooping--from its hook. Jyn stepped in front of him as he shrugged out of the shoulder holster, tugging up his collar and wrapping the pale blue tie around his neck. Cassian looked over her shoulder into the mirror and paused, golden cufflink clutched between stiff fingers.

“What?” she asked, neatly tying off his tie with an ease born of long experience.

He blinked.

“Nothing,” he replied, fumbling his cufflink through its hole and securing it, “It’s just been a long time since I’ve worn this.”

Jyn frowned a little, smoothing down his tie and stepping back as he lunged for his boots--white, polished and--in her opinion--entirely impractical.

“When was the last time?” she asked, “I can’t even remember.”

“Remembrance Day, about ten years ago,” Cassian grunted, tugging the boots on and standing in a rush, nearly clipping her jaw with the top of his head.

“Oh,” she said, handing him his jacket, which was thick and aged, heavy with the gold-braided epaulettes signifying his rank, with the ribbons detailing his service, with the insignia designating him, foremost, as an Alderaanian member of High Command.

He pulled this on carefully, firmly fastening the thick gold buttons all the way up to the lapels. Another wide belt, also a pale, delicate blue, went around his waist above the jacket, along with the ceremonial sword Cassian had drawn just once in the twenty years since Bail Organa had presented it to him with a laugh and a smirk.

He raised his eyebrows at Jyn as he adjusted the thin scabbard against his thigh.

“Don’t get any ideas,” she scoffed, catching his drift, “I think I’d rather die than have you try and 'defend my honor' with that thing again.”

Cassian flushed delicately, turning away and grabbing the appropriate cover from its box on the top shelf of the bookcase, tucking it under his arm and cautiously pressing his hair down.

“What did you expect me to do?” he said drily, facing her again.

“I,” Jyn replied, every bit as dry, “Can take care of myself without getting you sent to a medcenter.”

Cassian grimaced and decided to drop the subject.

“We should probably go,” he said.

“Yeah,” Jyn replied, “We probably should.”

He eyed her warily when she didn’t move.

“Jyn?” he said.

“Just enjoying the view,” she replied, smiling slyly at him before turning away.

Flustered _again_ , he cleared his throat and hurried after her down the hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's notes, in which sartorial decisions are discussed, [here](https://ibohe.tumblr.com/post/158607324696/shore-leave-chapter-5) .


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassian defends Jyn’s honor. With a sword.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah fark, this happened today.
> 
> References pretty much the entirety of [_A Little Bit of Everything_](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9274838/chapters/21018893).

Cassian dropped his hand to his side and winced at the emptiness he found there. Even now, in this time of relative peace, he found the concept of a planet-wide arms embargo foreign. Jyn looked up into his face questioningly.

He turned away, back to the transpariplast window with the blank, unfocused look of one lost in memory, but when she took his hand, he blinked rapidly, returning to her.

“Sorry,” he said, drawing in a deep breath, “It’s just strange to see it.”

New Aldera stretched out before them, acres upon acres of gleaming synthstone and sweeping spires. In the distance, a massive lake glittered, reflected the morning sun into their eyes.

“It’s the same,” he continued, scanning the horizon again, “But it’s not.” Pained, he struggled to find the difference.

She followed his gaze and rested her shoulder against his arm, grounding him against looming spectres.

“Cassian!” called a familiar voice from behind them, “Jyn!”

They turned together, dropping their twined hands.

“Leia,” Cassian said, a genuine smile creasing his face. They met with a long, lingering embrace that spoke of mutual affection.

“It’s so good to see you two,” Leia said, stepping forward and hugging Jyn too, eyes bright, “I’m so glad you could make it.”

“Miss Founding Day?” Cassian said with gentle humor, “Not for the galaxy.”

Leia’s smile was misted with sadness, but she stepped forward, running a hand down the sleeve of Cassian’s uniform jacket.

“This looks familiar,” she said, looking up teasingly and adding, “ _Joren_.”

Cassian snorted.

“I’m not Captain of the Royal Guard anymore,” he said, “I think we can forget that name.”

Leia looked to Jyn, and Jyn saw how hard she was trying, how hard she was struggling to hold everything together.

“I’ve seen the holos,” Jyn said, joining in, “I think a lot of little girls and boys will remember how devastatingly handsome Captain Joren Andor was on that--” she stumbled, almost said _last_ , but no, here they were, rebuilt, “--particular Founding Day.”

Leia laughed and gestured them towards the ’lift.

“You’ve managed to miss all the boring speeches and ceremony stuff,” she said over her shoulder, elegant white cloak billowing behind her, “So now it’s just the festival. Exciting things. Lots of food.”

His dress uniform having transformed him into an even greater infernal gentleman, Cassian waved them both into the ‘lift ahead of him, standing just off to Jyn’s side behind Leia, hands clasped behind his back.

“You think anyone’s going to recognize you?” Jyn asked him suddenly, tugging unobtrusively at the high collar of her ceremonial whites, which had thankfully been specially commissioned for the occasion--she’d never have agreed to come along if she’d had to wear the recently-issued New Republic dress uniforms.

Leia and Cassian both turned to her.

“As Joren Andor, I mean,” she clarified.

“It’s been nine years,” Leia said after a pause. Then, her words seemed to sink in. “Fark,” she muttered, looking up at Cassian, “Has it really been nine years since we last celebrated Founding Day?”

Cassian shrugged, though Jyn alone could read the hidden grief in the bent of his shoulders.

“What does it matter if they do?” he said to her, “The former Captain of the Royal Guard has become the commanding officer of Yavin 4.” He shrugged again. “General Rieekan holds a similarly high-profile position in the New Republic, and it’s no secret he was involved in the Rebellion.”

Leia smiled crookedly as the ‘lift came to a stop.

“I never understood why the two of you never got along,” she said, ushering them out into the bustling ground level of New Aldera’s main spaceport.

Cassian grunted something uncharitable under his breath and followed, one hand just brushing the small of Jyn’s back.

“Oh,” Leia said, laughing suddenly, “You know who might recognize you?” She looked over her shoulder at them, brown eyes smiling.

Cassian raised his eyebrows.

“I get the feeling I don’t want to know,” he said.

“Eadem,” Leia said, “Eadem Telos.”

Jyn could almost hear the gears grinding in Cassian’s head as he struggled to place the name. Then, realization dawned, and he stopped short.

“Ah,” he winced, “Really?”

“Yeah,” Leia grinned. To Jyn, she explained, “Eadem was one of my instructors when I was at university. He studies languages and is Cassian’s number one fan.”

“I still haven’t forgiven your father for that,” Cassian grumbled, catching up to them.

“He had Cassian recite a poem in Scryllic,” Leia translated, “Onstage. It was pretty impressive.”

Jyn looked up at Cassian archly.

“Why haven’t I heard of this before?” she demanded.

Cassian made another face, as if he had just smelled something decidedly unpleasant.

“I’ll dig out the holo and send it to you,” Leia said to Jyn conspiratorially.

Cassian’s scowl deepened, and as they exited the spaceport into the bright sun of New Aldera, he pulled his cover down tightly over his eyes, golden tassels bouncing with irritation. Jyn smiled to herself.

She stepped closer to him and snaked her hand again into his. Cassian sighed, looking down at her.

“We can watch it together,” she said, struggling to maintain a straight face.

“Yes,” he continued drily, “And have Shara and Kes over too. I think we can all fit in my office so we can watch it on the big holoprojector.”

“Perfect,” Jyn snorted out a choked laugh, “It’s a date.”

“Did you say _date?_ ” Han Solo shouted conversationally.

Jyn jerked her head up in surprise to find Han and Leia waiting for them in what was undoubtedly Han’s speeder, if its obnoxious paint job was any indicator. Beside her, Cassian drew up short, mingled distaste and resignation on his face.

“Fark you, Han!” Jyn shouted.

That definitely drew some looks from the crowd, which had begun slowing around them, realizing that _that_ one, that one right there, the little lady sitting in the speeder, _that_ was Princess Leia, and the man next to her, well, _that_ was Han Solo.

Cassian sighed again, tugging Jyn along.

“Be nice,” he said into her ear.

“Hey Cassian,” Han said as they piled into the rear seat, “I see you’re still in one piece. Pint-Pot Spittin’ Wampa here hasn’t bitten your head off yet?”

“You’re a farking piece of shaab, Han,” Jyn grunted, bracing herself against the door as they pulled away into the sky.

“Thanks,” Han said with a casual grin.

“Chewie’s spending some time with his family,” Leia said, turning in her seat to face them, “But he says hi.”

Against her will, Jyn smiled. She’d grown very fond of the Wookie in her time with the Pathfinders.

“How’s he doing?” she asked.

“Great,” Leia said with a laugh, “He has one on the way in--what--” she turned to Han, “--couple of months?”

“Yeah,” Han replied, and Jyn heard the wistful pride in his voice, “Chewie says it’s a boy.”

Jyn smiled softly.

“Send him our congratulations, would you?” she asked Leia.

“I’m sure he’d be glad to hear from you,” Leia replied. She turned in her seat again. “How are Shara and Kes doing? And Poe?”

“They have their hands full getting the prop’ up and running,” Jyn replied, leaning forward a little, “Poe’s turning six in a few weeks too, and he’s getting really big.”

“The prop’?” Han asked.

“'Vornez Proper,' officially,” Jyn explained, “It’s a couple clicks south of us, and there are all these plans for turning it into an actual settlement with its own civilian spaceport.”

“Who’d want to settle Yavin 4?” Han asked in surprise, “Don’t you guys have some crazy alien wildlife there?”

“Some crazy human wildlife too, now that you mention it,” Jyn shot back.

“Easy, sister,” Han grumbled.

“There was some interest from some old vets and retirees. A lot of extensions from the war are also expiring next year,” Cassian said, absently wading into the fray, and Jyn realized this was the first time he’d spoken since they’d left the spaceport, “If they want to stay on Yavin 4, they’ll find a way.”

He was looking down through the transpariplast window at the city and lake below, devouring the sight.

Jyn saw Leia glance back at him. Saw understanding.

“They’ve named it Lake Organa,” Leia said with a bit of dry humor, “I didn’t want them to reconstruct the palace, so they name the lake after us instead.”

 _Us_.

Cassian peeled himself away from the window and sat back heavily.

“Any fish?” he asked, after a pause.

Jyn saw Han’s reflection in the windscreen frown.

“I don’t know,” Leia replied with a knowing grin, “The market’s still set up along the shore, though, so you could ask around.”

“Or,” Han said, “I could just drop you off right about there--” he pointed at a vague spot in the middle of the lake, “--and you could let us know.”

Cassian snorted and returned to the window, watching the city below grow larger as they descended. Unconsciously, his hand found hers.

“It’s so similar,” he said quietly.

Leia grimaced.

“Yeah,” she admitted, “It’s a little… Strange. Like we’re living in a museum.” She paused, then added, deliberately trying to lighten the mood, “They even rebuilt the Queen’s Head.”

Cassian smiled, looking at her quickly.

“Yeah?” he asked.

“Yeah. I’ve been there. It’s the same. Exactly the same.”

Cassian’s hand tightened around Jyn’s.

“We’ll go have a drink there tonight, then,” he said to her, “Yes? I can--” he swallowed, forced the smile back onto his face, “I can tell you about the very first time I had a drink at the Queen’s Head.”

She squeezed his hand in return.

“That sounds like a great idea,” she said.

* * *

It was not a great idea.

But after a day of festivities, including a horse race down the shoreline of Lake Organa in which Leia, to everyone but Cassian’s surprise, had taken the prize, she found herself seated at a small, crooked table with three of the Rebellion’s greatest heroes, sung and unsung, nursing a rare pint of some bitter brew as the revelers around them swelled and ebbed, swelled and ebbed.

“So, what do you think?” Cassian whispered into her ear, warm and slightly flushed, hair tousled.

Jyn looked around at the sagging ceiling, the dusty, lurking corners.

“They _rebuilt_ this place?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Cassian sighed, immensely satisfied. She’d never seen him so relaxed before, so at home. “It’s exactly the same.”

“Right?” Leia said, grinning. Beside her, Han slurped loudly at his--no surprise here--Corellian ale.

Jyn shook her head in mock disbelief.

“Imitation might be the highest form of flattery,” she said cocking her head, “But this is just weird.”

Cassian snorted, slamming down his empty glass--his third of the night--and signalling for another.

Jyn sighed.

“You promised us a story,” she said to him.

He looked blankly at her, loosening his tie and unbuttoning the top button of his shirt.

“Your first drink in the Queen’s Head,” she promptly, “The actual Queen’s Head.”

“Ah,” he said, settling back on his dangerously-creaking stool. Several expressions flashed across his face in quick succession--fondness, grief, regret.

Leia looked at him curiously. Jyn was surprised to see that she was listening as eagerly as the rest of them. Han, for his part, oozed nonchalance, sprawled casually on his stool, one hand planted just behind Leia, just brushing her back.

Cassian waited for his drink to arrive. When it did, he took a large gulp.

“It was nine years ago,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “I was--”

“--Princess Organa!” someone from a large group of well-dressed men called from the opposite end of the pub.

Han’s grip tightened on Leia’s stool as she turned, inclining her head in friendly acknowledgement.

“Sorry,” she said quickly, turning back to Cassian.

He shrugged, opening his mouth again to continue, but he shut it again with a look over Leia’s shoulder, expression darkening.

This time, both Leia and Han turned to find the group of well-dressed men approaching, smiling and laughing loudly amongst themselves.

“Keep your mouth shut,” Leia hissed to Han before standing with admirable grace to greet the newcomers.

“Hello,” she addressed them politely, “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“Riaden Syrush,” their apparent ringleader said, bowing gracefully, “Your father spoke often of you.”

“Did he.”

Jyn marveled at dagger hidden behind Leia’s words.

“Yes, Your Highness,” Syrush continued, voice as rich and plush as his cloak, “I’m certain you’ve heard of us.”

Cassian pictured Leia’s eyebrows inching higher up her forehead.

“We,” Syrush said grandly, “Have risen up in memory of the Queen and Viceroy of Alderaan to campaign for a new world.”

Several of his hangers-on nodded their heads.

“I don’t know if you’ve been following the holonews,” Leia said, dry as Tatooine, “But we’ve done that already.”

“No, Princess,” Syrush continued, frowning aristocratically, “We campaign for a new Alderaan.”

“A new Alderaan,” Leia repeated flatly.

“Indeed.”

“This _is_ New Alderaan,” Leia said in that same tone of voice, “You’re standing on it.”

“We don’t fight for any physical, material possessions,” Syrush of the plush coat said, “We fight so that others will rise up and take arms against the Empire that destroyed our world.”

“Alderaan was a planet of peace,” Leia said, suddenly sharp, “So is New Alderaan. That is our legacy. Not destruction.”

“No, Princess,” Syrush said, and Cassian watched warily as Leia bristled visibly, Han tensing beside her as if saying, _Just give me the word, and I’ll knock this guy to farking Sullust._ “You fought for us. You took arms against the Empire and brought them their greatest defeats, and yet Imperial scum still clutter our planets, thieves and deserters claiming the resources our own people desperately need in this difficult time. The Empire lives still, Princess, and we ask--” here, he paused, possibly for dramatic effect, “--we ask only that you lend us your assistance in ridding the galaxy of the Empire, by and for all ends.”

“The treaty has been signed, Syrush,” Leia said coldly, “The war is over.”

“And yet the Empire still holds Coruscant,” Syrush protested, “ _Coruscant_ , the heart of our Republic.”

“What you’re asking for is genocide,” Leia snapped, color rising in her cheeks, “I will not stand for it.”

Around them, the pub had fallen silent.

Syrush, clearly having failed to anticipate this response to his carefully-rehearsed plea, stumbled.

“Genocide, Princess?” he said, “No, I would never call for such a thing.” He shook his head violently. “Just the Empire. Rid the galaxy of the Empire, the root of all evil, and--”

“--Syrush, are you deaf or just _dull?_ ” Leia snapped, “I thought you’d better understand what it meant to ‘rid the galaxy’ of anything--a people, a world, an idea.” She raked her eyes over the man’s followers, who looked nervously among themselves. “We’re from _Alderaan_ ,” she continued, “Alderaan, which is dead. Alderaan, which is gone, destroyed before my very eyes by a man striving to rid the galaxy of any hope of peace. Is that what you want, Syrush?” Leia stepped closer to the man, who, surprisingly, held his ground, “You want to destroy whole planets, whole _worlds_ because of an idea? Because that’s what the Empire is. It’s just an idea. You can’t kill it. There will always be people who believe in it, just as there will always be people like you who believe that there is just this one solution to every problem.”

“Princess,” Syrush jumped in smoothly as Leia paused to draw breath, “I would never advocate for the destruction of--”

“--that’s _exactly_ what you’re doing,” Leia spat. Beside her, Han stood, placing a restraining hand on her shoulder. “Half the Rebellion’s pilots were Imperial deserters. What would you do to them? Kill them? Imprison them? I’m telling you now, you’d have an entirely different rebellion on your hands if you did so.”

“No,” Syrush said again, “I speak only of the high-ranking Imperials responsible for this galactic destruction, for dividing us--” he gestured at Leia, “--along false lines of ideology.”

“ _Genocide is not a matter of ideology!_ ” Leia shouted. Han’s hand tightened on her shoulder.

“Princess--”

“-- _So_ ,” Jyn said loudly, slouched in her seat, “What Imperials do you think are responsible for this ‘galactic destruction’?” Everyone turned to her. “The generals, the commanders? We already know Palpatine’s dead. Vader’s dead. Tarkin’s also dead, thank fark. Most of their Joint Chiefs are also dead, after that whole thing on Jakku. So,” she repeated, shrugging, “Who’s left? The scientists, the engineers? How about the people who built the Death Stars? From what you say, they have to share in the responsibility, right? They built the machines that destroyed your planet.”

Syrush stared, somewhat poleaxed, at this unexpected intrusion.

“Of course,” he said, recovering himself, “All those responsible must face the most severe judgement.”

“You mean you want to kill them all,” Jyn said.

“Well, of course we would have a trial,” Syrush blustered, “We _are_ a democracy.”

“Indeed,” Jyn said drily.

“But the death penalty still stands,” Syrush continued.

“Not here,” Leia broke in again sharply, “And certainly not on Alderaan.”

“In either case,” Jyn said almost cheerfully, standing and offering her hands, “You might as well get started.”

Syrush looked from her hands to her feral grin and back again.

“I’m sorry?” he said.

“Jyn Erso,” Jyn said, gesturing with both hands, “My father designed the Death Star, so I think I’d be pretty high up on your list.”

Syrush blanched. The men behind him muttered amongst themselves. The pub-goers around them broke out into hushed whispers. Cassian watched her in disbelief.

When no one moved, Jyn gestured again with both hands, holding them together at the wrist as if they were bound.

“Come on, then,” she insisted politely.

Two men from the small crowd behind Syrush stepped forward, familiar anger in their faces. Jyn had seen that anger before on Cassian’s face when he spoke of Scarif. It was a hard, hollow thing here, relentlessly consuming.

She understood it well.

As they moved towards her, around Leia and Han, who both stared at her as if she’d grown another head, Cassian stood abruptly, his stool clattering over behind him with a crash.

And about time, too.

“Stop where you are,” he commanded in his general’s voice.

The two men paused, eyeing his uniform, obviously Alderaanian, obviously high-ranking. Around them, the pub held its breath.

“This is ridiculous,” Cassian spat, blaster hand clenched, “I speak for the New Republic when I say that you have no authority here. Leave now and I’ll refrain from pressing personal charges.”

The two men, seething, glared at Syrush, who, pale and mute, realized he had been manipulated onto a narrow precipice.

“Sir,” he said uncertainly, addressing Cassian, “You must understand that--”

As one, the men behind him pushed him aside and lunged forward.

Cassian yanked Jyn behind him, instinct searching for a weapon and alighting on the fact that a scabbard slapped against his thigh with his every step. Dimly, he registered Han wading into the fray, wielding his bar stool by the legs. Confident that his flank was covered by this unconventional, if effective, method of defense, he reached to his side and drew his sword.

It was much heavier than he thought it would be.

He almost dropped it.

“Cassian!” Jyn shouted.

He whirled just in time to duck a hurled glass, bending backwards as one of the men--dark and swarthy, with unbridled rage in his eyes--swept forward, a knife in his hand. Cassian parried clumsily, overlong sword unwieldy in close combat. Growling, Cassian reversed his grip and brought the pommel sweeping down toward his assailants, seeking to disable, not _kill_.

But this man was quick, dancing away and seizing him about the waist, tackling him to the floor.

Years of self-preservation helped him keep his grip on his sword as his head cracked against the floorboards. He brought the pommel down again on the man’s head. Once wasn’t enough--no surprise, he seemed to be of the thick-skulled sort--so Cassian smacked him again.

Then, the other man, tall and slight, was pounding towards him, identical rage in his eyes, a makeshift club--formerly one of the legs of Han’s barstool--held high in both his hands.

Cassian shoved the unconscious man off his chest, staggering to his feet, pushing Jyn back behind him as she lunged forward. He brought his sword up with both hands, inelegantly deflecting the first strike, which knocked his guard so far out of position that the next landed in his stomach, cracking _something_ and knocking the wind out of him. Stumbling backward, he swore and hurled the sword at the man, figuring that would at least buy him some time.

The heavy pommel caught the man in the chin, and truly poleaxed, he crumpled to the ground.

Bent double and wheezing for breath, Cassian watched as Han drove Syrush and the rest of his followers back out the door with his now-two-legged barstool.

“Well,” Jyn said from behind him, “ _That_ was pathetic.”

Cassian coughed, sinking to the floor.

“Hey,” Jyn said in sudden concern, materializing in front of him, “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” he gasped, blinking past reflexive tears.

“Oh fark, Cassian,” Leia said somewhere on the periphery, “You’re bleeding.”

“I’m fine,” he rasped, clawing his way back to his feet.

He tried to straighten, but something in his back gave the equivalent of a shriek, and he doubled over again, leaning blindly on something--someone.

“I’ll comm an ambulance,” Leia said.

“ _No_ ,” he groaned, drowning in embarrassment, hand pressed to his back, “I’m fine.”

“You can’t stand up straight,” Leia said flatly, “I’m comming an ambulance.”

And then she was gone.

“You should sit,” Jyn said, and he realized it was her he was clutching, “I think you hit your head pretty hard.”

“It’s just my back,” he winced, sinking back down to the ground.

“You back?” Jyn repeated, crouching with him, alarmed, “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” he gritted out.

“The fark happened to you?” Han grunted, tower over them, hands on his hips, obviously amused, “You only had two. I had everyone and their senile old grandpa over here and just a farkin’ bar stool.”

“I’d prefer the bar stool,” Cassian gritted out over the dull pulsing of his back.

“Yeah,” Han agreed, “You looked pretty stupid. Never fought with a sword before?”

Cassian glowered up at him.

“When,” he snarled, “Would I _ever_ have had to fight with a _sword?_ ”

“Hey,” Han said, holding up both hands and grinning, “I’m not criticizing your technique or anything. Genius move, by the way, throwing that thing. That’s always what I do. Don’t know what to do? Just throw something.”

Leia reappeared at that moment to prevent a further escalation of hostilities, looking down at Cassian with a mixture of amusement, exasperation, and apology.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he grunted.

“This is not how I expected our second Founding Day to go,” she said, sitting next to him.

Cassian closed his eyes.

“I agree,” he said.

“Fark, I’m sorry,” she said, genuinely apologetic.

“It’s not your fault,” Jyn said.

“Yeah,” Cassian rasped, “It’s all _your_ fault.”

“ _My_ fault?” Jyn said indignantly,.

“The whole thing about your father.”

“It was going fine until you had to go and _defend my farking honor_ with a stupid sword that you don’t know how to farking use.”

“It’s also against planetary regulations to draw any weapons on the surface, ceremonial or not,” Leia supplied helpfully, “So you’ve also committed a felony.”

“Ah, fark, Cassian mumbled.

"Congratulations,” Jyn said wryly, “You’re an idiot.”

* * *

“Force,” Jyn said after the doctor had left, “You really _are_ getting old.”

“Fark off,” Cassian muttered, slowly buttoning up his shirt.

The privacy curtain twitched, and Leia poked her head in cautiously.

“What’d the doctor say?” she asked.

Cassian opened his mouth, but Jyn beat him to it.

“General Andor threw out his back playing with his sword,” Jyn said loudly.

Cassian planted his face in his hands.

“Wow,” Han said, yanking the curtain aside without further ceremony, “That’s impressive.”

Cassian groaned, pushing himself gingerly to his feet, one hand braced on the medibed for support.

“We’re leaving,” he growled, “Now.”

He limped for the door, Jyn trailing behind, stifling her laughter.

“You know,” she said to him, “I could have taken care of myself back there. _Without_ a sword.”

“Please,” he grunted, flushed, “Please stop.”

“I’m never going to let you forget this, you know,” she said.

“Neither are we,” Leia called.

It was a short flight to the spaceport, and the four of them rode the ‘lift up in companionable silence, Cassian glaring at the plastisteel doors before him.

He swallowed his pride.

“These people--” he began.

“--I’ve run into them before,” Leia said, distaste heavy in her voice, “They call themselves the New Alderaan Movement. Basically,” she sighed, “they just want an excuse for us to start up the war again.”

“This sort of thing…” Cassian hesitated, “Happens often?”

Leia looked up at him.

“I don’t regularly find myself in bar fights, if that’s what you’re asking,” she said flatly.

“That’s not what I’m asking,” he replied.

Leia glanced at Han.

“I do get approached occasionally,” she admitted, “but it’s never really involved the former Captain of my father’s Royal Guard waving his sword around, so I’ll have to say the level of violence I saw tonight is a first.”

Cassian scowled.

“Great,” he said stiffly.

Leia snorted as the ‘lift doors opened, and they stepped out together.

“Here,” she said, holding out his belt and scabbard, “Can’t forget this, can you?”

Cassian took them with a long-suffering sigh.

“Take it easy the next few days, okay?” Leia said, a genuine note of concern underscoring her teasing.

Cassian grunted, keying open their ship.

“Thanks for coming,” she said, “It was a good day, all things considered.”

“Yeah,” Cassian replied drily, “I’m glad I could provide some quality entertainment.”

They hugged again.

“See you...” Leia trailed off.

Cassian shrugged, then winced as his back protested. Leia’s lips twitched.

“Sometime,” he finished firmly. He nodded at Han, and with one last, small smile for Leia, turned and climbed into the 'ship.

“He means ‘thanks for inviting us’ and ‘goodbye,’” Jyn translated, shaking her head.

She and Leia hugged, briefly, then she turned and punched Han on the shoulder.

“Ow!” he spluttered, “What was that for?”

“Defending my honor,” Jyn replied with a smirk. “See you around.”

She climbed into the ‘ship and keyed the door shut behind her. Cassian was in the cockpit, the engines humming to life under his hands.

“Go lie down,” she said, draping his uniform jacket over his seat, “I can take care of this.”

He shook his head stubbornly.

“After we’re in hyperspace,” he said.

She sighed and sat next to him in the copilot’s seat.

After a quick check with the control tower, they were cleared for departure, and Cassian pulled them away into the night sky, jaw tight, brow furrowed.

Without warning, he suddenly brought the ‘ship to a standstill. Jyn looked over at him.

They hung silently in the air over Lake Organa, New Alderaan’s moon as large and full above as below.

“That’s what’s different,” he said quietly.

“What?” Jyn asked.

Cassian pointed out the forward windscreen.

“That,” he said.

Jyn looked.

“What?” she asked again.

“The moon,” Cassian breathed, almost as a prayer, “Alderaan had no moon.”

A different, more familiar pain creased his face again, remembered now in the quiet of the night, and she reached out and put her hand over his, gently steering them away.

“This isn’t Alderaan,” she said.

He looked at her with an emotion so raw she could not name it.

“I know,” he replied quietly, “But it felt like home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's (many) notes [here](https://ibohe.tumblr.com/post/158645875101/shore-leave-chapter-6).


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So,” Garm Bel Iblis said, “How long have you two been married?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short update from the amongst the sprawling depths of my half-finished drafts folder.

“So,” Garm Bel Iblis said, “How long have you two been married?”

Cassian blinked up at him.

“Sorry?” he asked.

He heard Leia snort from across the room. Beside him, Jyn shifted warily.

“You two,” Garm said with rather more than a touch of humor. He leaned casually back against the holoprojector, arms folded across his chest. “How long have you been married?”

Cassian abandoned his close examination of the Home Guard Fleet’s current spread. He raised an eyebrow.

“You’ve been gone a long time,” he pointed out evenly, but a slight bite underscored his words.

Garm shrugged.

“So catch me up,” he said easily, “The last time we spoke, you were still calling yourself _Aach._ ”

Cassian glanced around the makeshift command room, at the comms officers very clearly _not_ listening, at the flashing markers on the holo before him indicating Thrawn’s movements, at _Leia_ , who was snickering quietly into her datapad. Garm followed his gaze and raised both his alarmingly thick and impressively white eyebrows.

“This really isn’t the time,” Cassian said sourly, “And that alias was Bail’s idea, not mine.”

“Yeah, blame it on the martyr,” Garm replied with the same blunt humor that had once nearly brought a building down on his head, “We could all be dead tomorrow, so before that, I’d _really_ like to know how _she_ tamed _you_.”

Jyn nudged him under the holoprojecter. He could sense her amusement. Scrubbing a hand through his snarled mess of a beard, he sighed.

“We’re not,” he said wearily. “Married, I mean,” he clarified. “We just--” he glanced at Jyn, “--found common ground.”

“Really,” Garm said flatly.

“Why’s that so hard to believe?” Jyn demanded.

Both bushy eyebrows went up again.

“Did you _know_ this man ten years ago?” Garm snorted, “He was farking _insane_. The Rebellion this. The Rebellion that. I always told Bail he’d’ve been better off with Saw.”

Cassian and Jyn shared a look of mutual amusement.

“Tamed, I say,” Garm repeated, shaking his head.

“They were on Scarif together,” Leia spoke up from the opposite end of the room, standing and approaching casually, hands tucked into the pockets of her practical trousers.

Garm looked from her to Cassian and Jyn.

“That would explain a lot,” he said. After a moment’s consideration, he continued, “At the time, I wondered if that had been you. All these years, I thought you’d been with Bail on Alderaan when the Death Star blew it to pieces.”

Everyone in the room winced.

“How is it,” Jyn said pointedly, “That you ever became a senator?”

“He just frightened people into listening,” Leia sighed, “That and he’d threaten a galaxy-wide embargo on Corellian liquor.”

“Force forbid it ever came to that,” Jyn muttered.

Her hand found Cassian’s under the holoprojector, and she brushed his knuckles gently, glancing up into his face, still twisted, minutely, in remembrance.

“Of course,” Leia said quickly, catching this, “It took you two four years after that to stop shouting at each other long enough to settle down.”

“From what I remember,” Jyn said drily, “You and Han weren’t much better. And I don’t think we much count as ‘settled down.’” She rested a hand pointedly on her blaster.

Leia snorted.

“Either way,” she said, “You’ve got to admit this--” she gestured at the two of them, fully grown adults secretly holding hands under the holoprojector, “--is better than whatever the fark was going on between Hoth and Endor.”

Cassian flushed a little, shifting awkwardly.

“I think that goes without saying,” Jyn said, smiling crookedly up at him.

“Yeah,” he said hoarsely, hand tightening around hers, “This is much better.”

“So why not?” Garm asked, “Why not get married?”

Cassian shifted uneasily. Jyn shrugged.

“Why is it such a big deal?” she replied.

Garm looked between the two of them, sensing something that hadn’t quite ever been said.

“It’s not,” he said. Leia blinked in surprise. “I was just trying to fill in the blanks here. It’s been a while since I’ve seen my old friend.”

Cassian grunted.

“The last time you saw me, you almost broke my nose,” he said sourly.

“Sorry,” Garm said unapologetically.

“Apologize to the Chancellor, not me,” Cassian snapped, and five years’ absence loomed between them again, a bitter betrayal.

Garm’s eyes narrowed, but just as he opened his mouth to speak, a nervous comms officer spoke up from the comsat console.

“We have Imperial movement,” he reported, “They’ve engaged our fighters.”

“Good,” Cassian replied, eyes fixed on Garm, “It’s about time.”

Beneath the holoprojector, out of sight, Jyn tightened her hand around his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's notes [here](https://ibohe.tumblr.com/post/158685629351/shore-leave-chapter-7).


	8. Chapter 8

Shara Bey, very much unlike her husband, was not in the habit of bursting into rooms unannounced, so when she slammed back the door to Cassian’s office without so much as a knock, he stood, alarmed, hand falling to his blaster.

“Shara,” he said, eyeing her wild hair, her wild eyes, “What’s wrong?”

“My father’s coming,” she blurted.

Cassian’s eyebrows shot up.

“Your father?” he asked, “Here? To Yavin 4?”

“Yeah,” Shara replied.

“ _Why?_ ”

“I don’t _know_ ,” Shara said, pushing the door closed behind her and slumping into a chair.

Cassian did the same.

“When did you find out?”

Shara looked at her wrist-chrono.

“Two minutes ago,” she said. She looked up at him and added flatly, “He’s landing in ten minutes.”

“ _What?_ ” Cassian yelped, standing again, “Did he come in with a transport?”

“I guess,” Shara said, looking up at him, “We’re not exactly a civilian spaceport.”

“He came all the way from Helicon?” Cassian asked, digging around in his desk drawer for his speeder’s access chip and coming up empty. He scowled.

“I _guess_ ,” Shara repeated, throwing up her hands in resignation, “Could you fly me down? Kes is still at the prop’ with Poe.”

“Yeah, of course,” Cassian said, distracted, scouring the immaculate surface of his desk and patting down his pockets. He swore under his breath. “Hold on,” he muttered.

He stalked down the hall to the master bedroom and irritably pushed open the door.

He stopped at the ’fresher door and raised a fist. Hand frozen in mid-air, he closed his eyes and took a slow breath. He dropped his fist back to his side.

“Jyn!” he shouted over the hiss of the shower, “Where’d you put the speeder keys?”

A clatter from within.

“What?” Jyn shouted, voice muffled.

“Where’d you put the speeder keys?” Cassian repeated.

“Your desk!” Jyn shouted back.

“ _No,_ ” Cassian replied, closing his eyes and leaning his forehead against the ’fresher door, “They aren’t there.”

“Well--” and he could _taste_ her exasperation, “I left them there when we got back.”

Cassian counted to five very slowly.

“Okay,” he sighed, “I’ll go check again.”

It wouldn’t be the first time he’d have to hotwire their own speeder.

“Where are you going?” Jyn bellowed, just as he was turning away.

“I’m taking Shara down to the base!” he shouted, just as loudly and beginning to feel ridiculous, “Her father’s flying in!”

“Oh,” Jyn said, the rest of her words swallowed by a combination of falling water and ’fresher door.

“What!?” he shouted, thunking his head back against the wall.

“ _I ASKED WAS THIS PLANNED?_ ” Jyn repeated in her battlefield voice.

“ _No_ ,” Cassian replied emphatically, wincing and stepping away, “Look, I have to go, but I’ll be back by--” he darted a glance at the wall chrono and winced, “--one or two. Dinner’s on the warmer. Don’t wait up.”

“ _WHAT!?_ ” Jyn bellowed.

Cassian pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Don’t wait up!” he shouted after another deep breath, “I’m leaving now!”

“ _OKAY!_ ” Jyn yelled, “ _FLY SAFELY!_ ”

Cassian grumbled under his breath and retreated back out down the hall to his study, where Shara, somewhat recovered from her earlier surprise, eyed him with amusement.

“Let’s go,” he grunted, jerking his chin over his shoulder.

“Don’t forget your keys,” Shara said teasingly, brushing past him.

Cassian sighed and followed her out.

* * *

They made good time across the dark forests of Yavin 4, night having long since fallen. Neither spoke until, distantly, the nav lights of Base One began to twinkle into view.

Cassian glanced at Shara.

“When was the last time the two of you spoke?” he asked.

Shara shrugged.

“A couple weeks,” she replied, “It wasn’t anything unusual. Just our monthly holocall.”

“Any idea why he’d show up like this?”

Cassian kept his eyes fixed on the growing landing lights.

“I don’t know,” Shara admitted, “It’s not like we’ve ever really been that close. I mean--” Shara shrugged again, with a distinct edge, “--he did raise my son for the first two years of his life, but politics have always gotten in the way of everything else.”

Cassian said nothing.

“I’m not expecting him to blow things up or attempt an assassination or anything,” Shara said quickly, “We just…” she sighed.

“Disagree,” Cassian supplied.

“Yeah,” Shara said with a small smile, looking at him out of the corner of her eye.

“Is he going to be staying with you guys?”

Shara snorted.

“Where else is he going to go?” she barked out a harsh laugh, “He’s an Imperial sympathizer. I wouldn’t even think about asking you to find a place for him on base, and if he and _I_ disagree about things, I don’t want to think what might happen if he spent the night with you and _Jyn_.”

Cassian huffed a laugh.

“It’s an option, though,” he said, looking over at her, “He’s still family.” He turned back to face the windscreen, smile falling away from his face as he added, almost too softly for her to hear, “And there’s not much of us left.”

It was Shara’s turn to be silent as Cassian wheeled the speeder to his assigned bay, which, due to his rank, was conveniently located right in the hangar. He powered down the engines and shut off the shields, glancing quickly over his shoulder at the empty, hulking transport that sat behind them. A maintenance crew ambled up the lowered loading ramp, the overnight shift settling in for a slow night.

Beside him, Shara hesitated. Cassian turned to her, raising an eyebrow.

“You’ve never met,” she said, “Have you?”

“No,” Cassian replied, watching her carefully.

“You know he’s an Imperial sympathizer,” Shara said, hedging.

“I think you might have mentioned that,” Cassian said drily.

“That means he’s also a racist son of a reek,” Shara said bluntly.

Cassian blinked. Xenophobia was nothing new.

“Okay,” he said slowly, “Meaning--what?”

“Meaning he’s not going to want to speak to you,” Shara replied flatly, looking away in embarrassment, “Because you’re mixed.”

“Oh,” Cassian said, “Okay.”

“Sorry,” Shara winced, “In advance.”

Cassian shrugged, smiling crookedly at her.

“I’ve been hated for much less,” he replied, “I’m pretty used to it.”

Shara brought her hand up to her face.

“I’m so embarrassed,” she moaned, “You other last remaining blood relative is such a huge jerk.”

“Hey,” Cassian said gently, “You turned out okay, so he can’t be that bad.”

He gave her a moment to compose herself again, then jerked a thumb over his shoulder.

“Ready?” he asked, “He’s probably waiting.”

“Or planting plasma charges,” Shara grumbled.

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” Cassian replied, popping open his door and dropping gracefully to the ground.

Shara followed him across the hangar.

“What I want to know,” she said to him under her breath, “Is how he got access to a troop transport.”

Cassian quirked a smile.

“He probably just said he was your father, provided the scandocs, and was good to go,” he murmured, hands clasped behind his back, hair ruffled slightly in the evening breeze blowing in through the open hangar doors, “You’re a Republic-wide celebrity.”

Shara winced again.

Cassian brushed a calming hand on her back for just a moment, and Shara realized suddenly that their roles had been reversed. She smiled apologetically up at him, then squared her shoulders, held her chin up high, and strode the remaining distance to the row of minimalist benches lined up against the far hangar wall.

A tall, thin man rose when she waved, setting a small bag down beside him.

“Dad!” Shara called, voice echoing slightly in the hangar. A passing grounds crew turned to ogle Shara Bey, Stunningly Beautiful Ace Pilot, but quailed under Cassian’s forbidding glare, saluting nervously and scurrying off. “I’m sorry I kept you waiting. Vornez is pretty far.”

Shara carefully wrapped her arms around her father in a cautious embrace.

“I understand,” he said in an accent so affected that Cassian flinched.

“Dad,” Shara said, one hand on his arm, the other gesturing to Cassian, “This is General Andor.” She paused, then added firmly, “He’s my cousin. And your nephew. Cassian,” she said, turning to him, and he could see the nerves in her eyes that she usually hid so well, “This is my father,” her lips quirked in a genuine half-smile, “Cassian Jeron Tanis.”

They regarded each other evenly for a long moment. Cassian realized that he was only just taller than Shara’s father, which he hadn’t expected of a man from Scarif. Everything else--the dark hair, the dark eyes, the dark beard, the dark skin--he recognized as _home_.

“Cassian, please,” he said in Scryllic, stepping forward and offering a hand, “It’s good to finally meet you.”

Cassian read the man easily--surprise mingled with thinly-veiled uncertainty and dislike. Propriety and his daughter’s vice-like grip on his forearm won out in the end, though, and he slowly reached out and took Cassian’s hand in a cold, automatic gesture.

“Call me Tanis,” he said flatly, Basic sharp and pointed, “That’s the one thing we shouldn’t have in common.”

“ _Dad_ ,” Shara snapped.

The words stung, of course, but Cassian had spent a lifetime pretending he didn’t care.

“It’s alright,” he said to Shara quietly, “I understand.” He met her gaze evenly. _It’s fine_. “Should we head back? It’s getting late.”

“Yeah,” Shara choked out, “Sure.”

Before either of them could react, Cassian reached past them and took Tanis’s bag, slinging it over his shoulder like a valet and gesturing them on.

Shara bit her lip and tugged her father on ahead.

“Sit in the back,” he murmured to her as they approached the speeder, “Both of you.”

“ _Cassian_ ,” Shara hissed, “You’re not our _chauffeur_.”

He lifted a shoulder in place of a reply and set the bag in the front seat, climbing up into the pilot’s seat to fire up the engines.

The flight back was conducted in silence, interrupted only when Cassian glanced behind him to ask Shara, “You comm Kes yet?”

“Yeah,” she replied grimly, “He’s waiting for us.”

He nodded, quick and sharp, and returned his attention to the controls.

When they eased to a stop just between their two houses, the Force-sensitive tree glowing softly, he grabbed Tanis’s bag and hopped out, heading straight for Kes, who had come out onto the back porch.

“Ah fark,” Kes murmured, reaching out and taking the bag, “I take it you’ve met Pops?”

Cassian raised an eyebrow at that but said nothing, jerking his chin over his shoulder.

“Sorry I wasn’t here,” Kes said lowly, “Got a little tied up at the prop’ today.”

Cassian shrugged lopsidedly.

“Poe asleep?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Kes replied, “He’s pooped.”

Shara and Tanis approached, mounting the steps together.

“Thanks for the ride, Cassian,” Shara said loudly. Tanis said nothing, staring Cassian evenly down.

“Yeah,” Cassian replied, wearily scrubbing a hand across his beard, “You guys need anything else?”

“Nah, we’re good,” Kes said, stepping forward and muttering a quick greeting to Tanis, who accepted his hand with an easy nod, “Thanks, Cass.”

Cassian turned away.

“Alright,” he said, “I’ll head back then.” He looked to Tanis again. “It was good to meet you, Tanis,” he added.

Tanis nodded stiffly.

“’Night, Cass,” Kes said.

“’Night.”

He jogged down the steps and strode across the lawn to his own back porch, unfamiliar eyes prickling his scalp as he went.

Jyn was waiting for him in bed, propped up on both their pillows, datapad in her lap.

He frowned at her.

“I said not to wait up,” he said automatically.

“Yeah,” she replied, completing the ritual.

He slipped out of his old field jacket, draped it across the back of his chair, and stretched with a sigh.

“That bad, huh?” Jyn said, setting her datapad aside.

Cassian grunted and pushed his way into the ’fresher.

He emerged a few minutes later, nightly toilette complete, to find Jyn dozing lightly, sprawled across the bed. Smiling fondly, he gently nudged her over, waving off the lights. She woke with a mumbled apology, wriggling his pillow out from under her and shoving it over to his side of the bed.

“Thank you,” he said drily.

She sighed and curled into his side, matching her breathing to his.

“Kes told me Shara’s father’s a pain in the arse,” she mumbled into his chest.

Cassian snorted softly.

“He use those words or are you trying to protect my delicate feelings?”

Jyn propped herself up on an elbow. Her eyes glowed in the light from the window above them.

“He’s your uncle,” she said.

“Yeah,” he replied.

“Your father’s older brother.”

“Yeah,” he repeated.

She looked at him piercingly, demanding an explanation.

“Scarif,” Cassian sighed quietly, “Was built on tradition. The old ways.” He shifted uneasily. “From what I’ve… learned, my family was especially--” he hesitated again, “-- _strong_ in their beliefs.”

“Then how did Shara’s father become an Imperial sympathizer?”

“I don’t know,” Cassian replied, “He left Scarif much earlier than my father did--they were over seven standard apart, so never really close. They didn’t keep in contact.”

“I still don’t understand,” Jyn said, scooting higher up onto his pillow so they were eye-to-eye, “Why does he dislike you so much? You’ve never even met.”

Cassian sighed, staring up at the ceiling. Jyn rested her hand in his hair.

“There were really only two clans on Scarif,” he said finally, “My father came from one--the original one, according to some people--and my mother came from another, descended from immigrants who’d arrived several hundred years ago.” He pressed his lips together. “There was a lot of _shavit_ on maintaining tradition--marrying within a certain lineage within the same clan and things like that, so I don’t think anyone on my father’s side would really have approved.”

“That’s why he went to Carida?”

Cassian turned towards her.

“Something like that,” he said.

Jyn was quiet for several long moments. He closed his eyes, cherishing her nearness.

“That’s it?” she asked, “That’s all it takes for him to be an arse to you?

Cassian opened his eyes again, looking beyond her.

“I think that’s most of it,” he admitted, “But imagine what it’d be like for you to see someone you thought you’d never see.” He paused, staring into the dark. “Someone who reminded you of things you tried to leave behind.”

Jyn considered this.

“That’s still a farking _shavit_ excuse,” she said flatly.

He huffed a dry laugh, wrapping his arm around her.

“I know you won’t admit it,” he said into her ear, “But I think you might be a little biased when it comes to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's (very brief) notes [here](https://ibohe.tumblr.com/post/158721474391/shore-leave-chapter-8).


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassian dreams.

He knew it was a dream, but he spoke anyways.

“You’re dead,” he said.

“Thanks for reminding me.”

Bail Organa smiled crookedly at him from his favorite armchair by the large bay windows on the residential floor of House Organa. Late morning sunlight streamed through the tempered transparisteel, casting warm, glowing light across his face.

“Why are you here?” Cassian asked, mouth dry, tongue thick, unwieldy.

Bail leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyebrows raised.

“You’re not happy to see me?” he said, mouth twitching.

“I--” Cassian choked, “I am.” He swallowed shards of durasteel, shredding his throat. “Very.” He looked into painfully familiar eyes, chest tight. “But this isn’t real. This can’t be real.”

Bail turned, squinting into the sun.

“Why does that matter?” he said, standing with casual elegance and pacing to the window, “Why do things have to be real for you to enjoy them?”

Cassian twitched to his feet.

 _Don’t go_.

Bail turned to face him again, his smile wistful, tinged with melancholy.

“I’ve missed you,” he said quietly.

Cassian swallowed again, bowing his head against the crashing tide of emotion. He opened his mouth to speak, but again his throat closed, and he shook his head, staring at his boots, hands clenched together behind his back. He didn’t dare look up because he knew he would be alone in this dream-world, alone--

A large hand clasped his shoulder.

Cassian jerked his chin up.

“Why?” he croaked, blinking furiously.

“Does it matter?” Bail replied.

* * *

They wandered down the Apalis Coast, sea salt in the air, a brisk wind, crisp and fresh, nipping at their heels.

“Leia’s married now,” Cassian said, glancing up at him.

Bail smiled fondly.

“It’s about time,” he said, “Kids?”

Cassian nodded.

“One,” he replied, “A boy.” A faint smile curled his lip. “They named him Ben.”

Bail laughed, warm and rich, deep in the chest.

“I’m sure you had a lot to say about that.”

Cassian shrugged, smile falling away as he squinted out across the water, sunlight dazzling his eyes.

“Ben’s dead too,” he said, “Vader killed him.”

Bail faltered for a moment.

“You knew,” Cassian said, “You knew Vader--Skywalker--was her father. That Luke was her brother.”

Bail sighed, a heavy thing.

“I did.”

Cassian bowed his head, studying his bare feet as they curled and sank into the sand, which shifted, continuously.

They walked in endless silence, dwelling in presence.

“And you?” Bail asked after a momentary eternity, “Still finding excuses to be miserably alone?”

That startled a laugh out of him, and Bail grinned broadly.

“No,” he said slowly, once laughter had died again, “I’ve given up on that.”

Bail cocked his head, grin turning fierce.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Cassian replied, looking away briefly again, at the hard, rocky shoals, their jagged edges slowly, slowly smoothed away by rhythmic persistence, “Jyn.”

Bail’s eyebrows shot up.

“Erso,” he said.

Cassian smiled crookedly.

“And how long did that take?” Bail asked.

“About four years,” Cassian said.

Bail shook his head, still grinning.

“In my defense,” Cassian continued, “You were dead."

Bail shrugged.

“That’s no excuse,” he replied.

Cassian turned away, out across the sea again, yearning to hold back the sun.

“We brought the plans back from Scarif,” he said, voice tight, “But we did nothing with them. _Nothing_.”

Bail was silent, a tall, quiet presence, full of forgotten life.

“It seems,” Cassian continued harshly, forcing the words out, letting them cut and burn their way out of his chest, “That’s what I’m good at.”

The sea hissed seething condemnation.

“I think,” Bail said evenly, “You’ll find that’s not so true.”

Cassian remembered the hollow, yawning grief in the aftermath. How, one morning in the medbay, he had been woken by the sound of Shara’s tears.

Shara Bey, that kind, soft-hearted woman who had fiercely loved so much.

He searched for her face in the skies above

* * *

There were no market stalls on the beaches of Aldera Lake. There were no speeders racing through the sky.

They sat together on the low rail of a forgotten man’s fishing boat, shoulders not quite brushing, feet skimming the water.

The sun was setting, burning fiercely, hurtling towards the horizon.

He could not speak.

He must speak.

“Bail,” he said, voice breaking.

Bail Organa turned to him, so warm and so full of life.

“I’m sorry,” Cassian said, drowning.

Bail said nothing.

“I’m starting to forget things,” Cassian said, eyes fixed on the quiet sea below, “From Alderaan.”

“What you mean to say,” Bail said quietly, “Is that you’re trying to forget things.”

Cassian flinched.

“I--” he said, choking, “I can’t.” Rigidly, he gripped the warm, worn wood beneath his hands. He slowly brought his eyes up, turning, again, searching the face that had begun to blur in his memory.

Bail sighed, dark eyes infinitely kind.

“Cassian,” he said gently, “I don’t mind.”

Cassian clenched his jaw.

“I think you already know,” Bail said, “That you can’t hold on to me forever." He smiled faintly. "I’m already dead.”

Cassian bowed his head again, tight and pained.

“You--” he searched for words, came up dry. He clenched his eyes shut. “You don’t know how much I needed--how much I still need--” He broke off, unable to speak the words aloud.

Soft waves lapped against the hull of the boat, rocking them gently.

“A family,” Bail finished into the silence.

“No,” Cassian said, turning fiercely to him again, to this ghost made flesh, “A father.” His breath hitched. “You.”

Bail accepted his admission quietly.

“You know,” he said eventually as the sun sank lower in the sky, “I've always thought of you as my son.”

“I miss you,” Cassian choked, “I still do.”

Bail settled an arm around his shoulders, drawing him close. Here, at the end of the galaxy, they sat alone.

“I’m gone, Cassian,” Bail said softly, “But does that really matter?” The sun shed its tears, setting the sea aflame. “Can you really forget why?”

Cassian turned his head to Bail’s chest, hiding his face from the dying sun, from the rising moon.

“Don’t go,” he whispered, “Please don’t go.”

“Try to forget,” Bail said as darkness grew, “Try to forget, and you’ll remember why you can’t.”

Cassian closed his eyes.

The sun set.

* * *

Jyn watched him sleep.

She watched the tears track their way down the haggard lines of his face, watched them run and mingle, part and meet again. She brushed them away with overwhelming tenderness.

She didn’t want to wake him.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kes receives the honor of naming the base’s new flagship. Cassian is not amused.
> 
> It is 10 ABY, and everyone’s looking for a reason to laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here be angst.
> 
> Unfortunately based on [this](https://www.theguardian.com/world/2017/mar/13/boaty-mcboatface-to-go-on-first-antarctic-mission) article.

There had been few times in the ten years she’d known him that Jyn thought Cassian in serious danger of succumbing to his primal homicidal urges. He’d lived a life of rigid control--he still did, she knew, despite her best efforts to thrash it out of him--so it was both amusing and a little disconcerting to find him lividly staring his best friend down across the dining table, jaw admirably clenched.

“Hi,” she said loudly, slamming the back door shut behind her.

Kes looked up in strained relief, flashing her a tired smile. Jyn returned it gladly.

Cassian did not acknowledge her, visibly struggling to rein in his temper.

“What’ve you done now?” Jyn asked Kes. She trailed a hand along the rigid line of Cassian’s shoulders as she passed behind him into the kitchen.

“I,” Kes said, leaning back with the shadow of his former panache, “Was given the great honor of naming the base’s new flagship, now that they’re finally running a full ‘fleet.” He glanced at Cassian, who smoldered silently, “It only took them five years. I’ve waited very patiently.”

“Yeah?” Jyn prompted, picking up her neatly portioned and covered dinner from the warmer and returning to the table. She was beginning to see where this was going.

“Yeah,” Kes said triumphantly.

“And?”

Kes saw that she was fighting a smile and grinned.

“Boaty McBoatface,” he said.

Jyn spat out a mouthful of kebroot. Cassian ground his teeth together audibly.

“You can’t be serious,” Jyn choked.

Kes’s grin broadened, smoothing out lines of grief and age.

“They finished the paint job today, and I had it entered into the database last week.”

Jyn snorted, turning to Cassian.

“How the fark did this get by you?”

Cassian shook his head tightly.

“I’ve been betrayed,” he ground out.

“I think Admiral Ackbar appreciated the humor,” Kes said, “So that’s something.”

“Isn’t the christening ceremony tomorrow?” Jyn asked.

“Yup,” Kes replied, leaning back on the rear two legs of his chair.

“I can’t believe you,” Cassian snapped.

“I know,” Kes said drolly, “I’m pretty fantastic.”

Jyn shoveled her dinner into her mouth, eyeing Cassian carefully. These past few months had been hard on them all, but he, in particular and to no one’s surprise, had borne a lot of it silently, spending nights upon nights at the Dameron house sitting quietly and listening to someone else’s drunken ramblings, stumbling back in the early hours of the morning to shower and return to the base, submerging himself in the painful reorganization of SPIN as a semi-autonomous entity under the fledgeling New Republic Intelligence Service. He’d also begun taking regular afternoons off in recent weeks to spend time with Poe, who was just old enough to understand what had happened. The two of them went for long walks together through the forest, in silence or tears or laughter, taking comfort in each other’s presence.

He looked tired, worn threadbare under simmering anger, which was itself, Jyn realized, just an excuse. She glanced at Kes, who met her gaze evenly, sobering slightly, and knew that he, too, understood.

“We’ll be at the ceremony tomorrow, though,” Kes continued, turning back to Cassian, “So you can blame it all on me.”

“I’m the commanding officer of this _planet_ ,” Cassian bit out, “I don’t think I can blame anyone for anything.”

“Is it really that big a deal?” Jyn asked, “It’s just a name. The call sign’ll be different, won’t it?”

“Not if I have my way,” Kes replied, putting his hands together over his mouth and muffling his voice, “ _BMcB, standing by_.” He grinned again. “That was Poe’s idea.”

“Ah, fark,” Cassian muttered.

“I’m glad I have your approval,” Kes said, “It means so much to me.”

“You _forged my signature_ ,” Cassian growled, “ _Multiple_ times. That’s grounds enough for a court martial.”

“I’m retired, Cass,” Kes said, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair again, “Honorably discharged. You can’t do anything to me.”

Cassian slumped back in his chair and scrubbed an unsteady hand through his beard. Jyn inhaled the rest of her dinner and squinted at him.

“You eat yet?” she asked.

He blinked at her.

“Yeah,” he said.

“Liar,” she replied.

“So. Can I go now,” Kes asked, checking his wrist-chrono, “or are you still planning on murdering me? I need to put Poe to bed.”

“Get out,” Cassian grunted.

Kes shot Jyn a look as he rose, and she pressed her lips together, toying with her fork as she watched him leave. Jyn stood and took her bowl back to the kitchen, washing it by hand because Force forbid she leave unwashed dishes in the sink. She heard Cassian stand with a loud popping of knees and shuffle to the sideboard, heard the clinking of glasses, the slosh of whatever he’d decided to drown himself in today.

She wiped everything dry with one of the dishcloths Shara had loaned her when she’d first settled in with Cassian--simple, domestic things like that had a habit of escaping his notice--and quietly put everything away, hanging the dishcloth on its appointed rack. Silently, she returned to the dining table, where Cassian had resumed his brooding, this time over a glass of--she winced--Corellian whiskey. She sat across from him.

He stared at the table, long, thin fingers twitching silently against the surface. By now, he knew better than to offer her a glass, and she knew better than to speak. They sat with each other, silently.

“He’s doing a lot better,” Cassian said at last.

“He must be,” Jyn said, “to be pulling _shaab_ like that over you.”

She didn’t mention the alternative.

Cassian grunted, took another sip.

“She would have hated it,” he snorted, spinning his glass, “ _Boaty McBoatface_.”

“I think she would have liked it,” Jyn said, and he looked up at her in surprise. “She was always trying to get you to take yourself less seriously.”

He scowled.

“This isn’t _my_ flagship we’re talking about,” he said, “This is the _fleet’s_ flagship.”

“Who cares what the ’ships are called?”

“We’re the New Republic, Jyn,” he said thickly, “The _Very New_ Republic,” he amended, “Everyone cares.”

“It’s a stupid thing to care about,” she replied.

He snorted again and tossed back the rest of his glass, dark and brooding.

She reached across the table and seized his hand when he reached for the bottle again. His eyes flattened, anger slipping into place.

“We both know that she didn’t like this,” Jyn said evenly.

Cassian twisted out of her grip.

“The fark cares,” he grunted, snatching away the bottle, “She’s dead.”

Jyn sat back and watched him pour another glass.

“You’re not fooling anyone, you know,” she said after he’d drained half of that, “Kes knows.”

“Yeah,” he snorted, “but knowing and _seeing_ are two different things.”

The bitterness turned inward again, as it always had, savage and cutting.

She watched him drown.

On nights like these, he would sleep in the den out of some dire self-loathing that kept him from their bed, sprawled half on the floor, half across the futon Kes had built for them by hand. She’d wake in the mornings and he would be gone, the stale smell of liquor and defeated apology in the air.

“Cassian,” she began.

“No,” he said roughly, stubbornly avoiding her gaze. He stood, wavered, planted a fist against the table.

She stood too, facing him down.

“Don’t do this,” she said.

He looked at her, completely flat, devoid of expression.

It frightened her.

“You wouldn’t understand,” he said.

“You haven’t even tried,” she replied.

Something flickered, briefly, behind his eyes. Silence swelled and broke, shattered, scattered across space.

“Why should I?” he said, and his callous words held all the anguish she had ever known.

She took a breath and reached out to him with her heart.

“Because I want to help,” she replied.

He flinched at that, looking down at his trembling fist on the table. It wasn’t just his hand that shook. Something thrummed in him, violently, struggling to break free

“You can’t,” he said desperately.

“I can,” she snapped, “You just don’t want me to.”

Words failed him, and he shook his head, staring fiercely down at his hands.

“Cassian,” she said gently, “Look at me.”

Shoulders taut, he refused, knowing that if he did, he would come undone, that another dam would break, another carefully guarded prison flung open.

“Cassian,” she repeated.

He sucked in a sharp breath, as if struck.

And turned away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's notes [here](https://ibohe.tumblr.com/post/158867228816/shore-leave-chapter-10).


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jyn comes home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short something.

Cassian waited impatiently at the edge of the landing pad, watching the transport lumber slowly about the far end of the ziggurat, looming into view above the ancient palace. Ostensibly, he was off-duty, but the passing grounds crew saluted him all the same, staying well clear of what he was sure Jyn would call his Moody Arse Face.

Jyn.

He stayed where he was as the transport slowly eased to a landing, the updraft blowing back the ends of his old field jacket and rippling his trousers around his legs. The bay doors creaked open maddeningly slowly, and he crossed his arms tighter across his chest as the first few NRIS agents trickled out. As they passed, they gave the same informal greeting he’d come to expect--a small nod of the head, a muttered, “Sir.” 

He didn’t know any of these men personally, but he knew them well.

Finally,  _ finally _ , she appeared, the last one off the farking ship, and she pretended not to see him waiting impatiently on the ferrocrete, laughing and joking with the pilot, a vaguely familiar young man--the two of them were old now, in the eyes of this New Republic--who followed her onto the ferrocrete with a casual friendliness that both reassured and set him on edge.

Jyn muttered something to him, and the pilot laughed, glancing over her shoulder to Cassian. He gave a friendly wave, then turned back to his ’ship. Cassian clenched his jaw.

Jyn turned to him as if she could hear his molars grinding together.

“Moody Arse Face!” she called over the whine of the bay doors as she strode towards him, “I thought you’d be happier to see me!”

Cassian glared at her forbiddingly, brow furrowed.

She laughed, jogging the last few feet of separation and stopping just short of wrapping her arms around him, slapping his shoulder instead. His beard twitched as he looked down at her.

“You haven’t been waiting for me, have you?” she asked archly. 

“No,” he said stiffly, “I was just airing out my--ah--Moody Arse Face.”

She laughed again, proudly, and tugged him down for a kiss. Caught by surprise--she was rarely prone to such public displays--he wrapped his arms tightly around her and found himself melting again. When they broke apart, staring deeply into each other, she was grinning, and he was reeling.

“Hi,” she said quietly.

“Welcome home,” he murmured, forehead pressed to hers.

She smiled into his chest, breathing him in deeply. He rested his chin in her hair and did the same.

“People are staring, Cassian,” she said into his shoulder, looking past him to the hangar.

“Let them,” he replied.

“Are you off-duty?” she said, drawing back and looking up at him, “That would explain the Rebellion-era relic you’re wearing.”

“ _ Hey _ ,” Cassian said, mock-hurt, but he smiled down at her, tired and worn but filled with warmth. She shot him a look and stepped back. “I’m supposed to be off-duty,” he clarified, “But I came in this morning to talk things over with Dif, and, you know--” he shrugged, “--I’m still here.”

“You’ve been staying on base, haven’t you?” she asked, “I can tell.”

Cassian sighed, smile slipping away.

She stepped back again and really considered him. He had grown  _ gaunt  _ in their months of separation, clothes hanging loosely, eyes sunken deep behind knife-blade cheekbones. She’d seen him like this often enough to know that something big was brewing, something that kept him up for days and weeks, something that gave him dreams.

“We can talk later,” he said, running a hand through his hair, “Dif’s probably waiting for your debrief.”

“You mean  _ Director Scaur _ ,” she said setting out across the ferrocrete to the hangar.

“Yeah,” he said, smiling crookedly and following, his shoulder brushing hers, “Sorry.”

“Should I come find you after or will you come find me?” she asked.

He hesitated, and that was all she needed.

“I guess I’m staying on base tonight,” she said.

“Sorry,” he said again, looking away briefly, “I can fly you back tonight if you don’t mind waiting--”

“I know how to fly a speeder, thank you,” Jyn said drily, “Besides, if you’re going to be here, I don’t see the point of flying all the way back out to Vornez by myself. Kes’ll just drive me crazy.”

Cassian smiled faintly, strained.

“Hey,” she said, placing a hand on his arm and stopping him short, “It’s fine. I understand.”

“We’ll talk tonight,” he said apologetically, looking suddenly frail and shadowed.

“Yeah,” she said, forcing a smile, “I’ll see you then.”

They lingered for a long, moment, hands brushing wrists, then he turned and was gone, swept up in the roiling mass of army personnel.

As she always did, Jyn looked after him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's notes [here](https://ibohe.tumblr.com/post/158945842076/shore-leave-chapter-11).


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are many of his memories in Shara's closet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A companion piece to [Chapter 6](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9847736/chapters/23177919) of _Began_.

Just help me through this moment,  
After everything I told you,  
How the weight of their loss is like the weight of the sun.  
I see their faces near me,  
I hear their voices calling,  
It was like their lives were over before they begun.

"Timeless"  
The Airborne Toxic Event

 

It was sometime deep into their first wet season together on Yavin 4 that Jyn found herself waiting impatiently at the Damerons’ for Cassian to arrive for their customary weekly shared evening meal. She glared out the back window at the driving rain, equal parts glad she hadn’t had to join Cassian on his flight down to the base that morning and vaguely unsettled by his uncharacteristic tardiness.

Shara joined her, a hot mug of tea steaming in her hands.

“It’s a big one, isn’t it?” Shara said.

“Yeah,” Jyn replied, folding her arms tightly and forcing herself to remain still.

“He’s flown in worse,” Shara said with a faint smile, “Don’t worry.”

Before Jyn could reply that she wasn’t worried, just _hungry_ , Kes wandered in, Poe in his arms.

“Fark,” he said mildly, peering out the window, “It’s really coming down today.”

Jyn glared at him. Shara sighed.

“Oh,” Kes said, shifting Poe to his other arm and grinning, “You want to guess what I just found?”

“No,” Shara and Jyn said simultaneously.

Kes frowned.

“Hey,” he said.

“We’ve been sorting through some of our old things all day,” Shara said to Jyn with no small amount of exasperation, “He’s very easily entertained.”

Kes grinned again.

“Hold on,” he said, handing Poe to her, “I’ll go get it.”

Poe cooed softly, reaching out and plucking at his mother’s soft hair, eyes large and wide.

Shara smiled wryly at Jyn, who twitched fitfully at the window.

Kes re-emerged from the hall a few moments later, what appeared to be a large briefcase balanced on top of a plastene crate in his arms.

“Oh,” Shara said, slightly strangled, “Where did you find _that?_ ”

Kes dropped everything onto the caf table with a loud thump.

“With your stuff from Fest,” Kes replied cheerfully, popping open the briefcase and yanking out a power cable, “I can’t believe you have one of these.”

Shara paced slowly over.

“I didn’t know I still did,” she said.

Kes snapped the power cable into an outlet on the far wall and gingerly set the briefcase down on the caf table, peering into the crate with an ever-broadening grin.

“What is that?” Jyn asked, peeling herself away from the window.

“This,” Kes proclaimed, “Is a record player.”

“A what?”

“A record-player,” Kes replied, slouching onto the couch and rummaging through the crate, which was packed with large, flat, square envelopes, “It plays records. Music.”

“Oh,” Jyn said, “Why?”

Kes squinted at her.

“Very funny,” he replied, flipping slowly through the envelopes. Shara hovered at his side. “Wow,” Kes said, “These are all really old.”

“Thanks,” Shara said drily.

“Do you have _anything_ that’s in Basic?” Kes asked, still flipping, “Or are these all in Espo?”

Shara butted Kes aside as she sat, handing Poe back over, and rifled quickly through the crate. She paused at the very last envelope, something strange crossing her features. Kes poked his head over her shoulder

“What’s that?” he said, pulling it out over Shara’s wordless protestations and finding the thick, yellowed flimsi envelope blank. Reaching inside, he carefully withdrew a large, round disk and gingerly set that in the record player. Against her will, Jyn circled around to the back of the couch.

Vague memories of a glittering apartment in Coruscant’s Imperial sector tugged at the back of her mind.

 _Turntable_ , they said.

Kes unhooked a thin arm from the side of the turntable and set it down just on the edge of the record, which had slowly begun to spin.

A slight hiss, crackle.

The first notes sounded, low and rich, a single descending guitar line. The hairs on the back of Jyn’s neck rose. A man sang softly, voice high and gentle, words she could not understand but which, somehow, aroused a sharp, familiar longing--a longing for home that rose and fell with the dull roar of rain.

_I’ll always protect you, Stardust._

Blinking away the memory, Jyn watched Kes sit back wordlessly on the couch before her, shoulders suddenly sharp, pointed. Beside him, Shara leaned forward, elbows on her knees, staring at the scuffed record as it spun hypnotically.

There was a strange air of tension.

The man on the record continued singing, a smile in his voice. A lullaby, Jyn realized. He was singing a lullaby.

A small child giggled.

Poe cocked his head curiously.

The man sang still more playfully, words quick and light, guitar strings squeaking along. His quiet laugh swallowed the beginning of the next verse, and Jyn stiffened.

The child on the record giggled again, and another few words were lost to a gentle laugh.

Jyn couldn’t move. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t escape this trespass.

The back door opened with a loud thundering of rain, and Cassian ducked inside, soaked to the skin, sheepish apology on his lips.

There was a sharp squeak of strings from the record, and the music ended suddenly as song dissolved into laughter, high and low, soft and sweet.

“Papá!” the boy on the record giggled, “Papá, un--”

Shara snatched away the turntable arm with a jagged screech.

The roaring storm through the open door cast Cassian in sharp relief. Hair plastered to his head, deathly pale, he swallowed convulsively, eyes wild.

And turned away, surging blindly back out into the driving rain.

“Fark,” Kes muttered, springing to his feet, Poe burbling in protest, “Fark, fark, fark, _fark_.”

He handed Poe off to Shara with the briefest of looks that spoke the greatest of apologies and sprinted for the door. As that slammed behind him, Shara glanced over her shoulder at Jyn, who remained frozen, white-knuckled hands clutching the back of the couch.

“You should go,” Shara said.

“Go,” Poe echoed happily.

Mouth dry, Jyn looked at her.

“I--” she stumbled, “I don’t--”

“--You’re the one he needs to talk to about this,” Shara cut her off firmly, and there was a distinct challenge in her eyes.

Jyn pried her fingers loose and moved in a haze across the room. She yanked open the door, and even over the furious assault of rain, she could hear Kes’s voice, shouting down the dull hum of the speeder engine. Mechanically, she stepped onto porch and shut the door behind her, descending the stairs to sink into the mud. Dimly, she could make out the weakly-flaring speeder lights and slogged towards them.

“--can’t just _run_ from everything!” Kes was shouting, standing directly behind the speeder and refusing to move, “ _She deserves to know!_ ”

Cassian, in the open cockpit, said nothing, hands on the controls, staring ahead unflinchingly as rain streamed down his face.

Kes saw her approach first, and some painfully alien thing in his face tightened, twisted into a strange, helpless grief that she had never seen before. Cassian looked down at her and, very slowly, leaned forward to rest his head on the steering yoke, eyes closed.

“Cassian,” she said over the crying rain, “Come inside.”

He remained motionless for so long in his frighteningly open posture of defeat that she was one breath away from climbing up next to him when he stirred, straightening and blinking stinging water out of his eyes.

“Come on,” Jyn said, holding out her hand.

Cassian looked down at her, uncertainty and pain mixed in equal measures in the darkness of his eyes.

“Come on,” Jyn repeated, gesturing again.

Slowly, he took her hand.

* * *

Jyn collected his sodden uniform from his hands and tossed it into the hamper, just the ghost of a touch skimming his shoulder. Fresh out of the shower, skin pinked back to life, he looked marginally more alive, the haunting sharper, more piercing in his eyes.

“Shara said they’d wait for you,” she said, “Want to head over?”

He hesitated.

“I’m hungry,” she said.

Naked guilt flickered across his face before he nodded tightly, more a jerk of the chin, and followed her back out, silent and brooding.

Shara greeted them with a warm smile, pulling food from the warmer as Poe toddled around her to wrap his arms around Cassian’s legs.

“‘Ncle Cass!” he crowed.

Momentarily stricken, Cassian looked down at the boy, at the thick, dark thatch of curls pressed into his knees. Shara brushed past them, a large plate of mixed wildrice and beans in her hands. Jyn moved to help her.

“‘Ncle Cass?” Poe asked, looking up questioningly.

Jyn watched unobtrusively over her shoulder as Cassian sucked in a breath and bent, heaving Poe into his arms.

“ _Ho sento_ , _ami_ ,” he murmured, pressing a quick kiss to Poe’s cheek, “You caught me daydreaming about your mama’s food. Smells good, mm?”

He turned away into the dining room, leaving Jyn alone at the warmer when Kes entered from the hall, toweling his hair dry, obviously just out from a hot shower of his own. The former commando stopped short when he saw her, eyes darting over her shoulder to the dining room, where Poe’s voice burbled happily, grounded by a low murmur of response, then back again to her, carefully grabbing hold of a large pot of kebroot stew.

“Hey,” he said.

Jyn raised an eyebrow.

“He okay?” Kes pitched his voice lower, slapping his towel across his shoulder.

Jyn shrugged.

Some of her thoughts must have shown on her face because Kes twitched forward and rested a cautious hand on her shoulder, gently taking the pot from her.

“Thanks,” he said quietly.

Jyn stepped away.

Their eyes met for a quiet moment. Jyn opened her mouth to speak.

Then, Kes’s stomach growled loudly.

Laughing raucously, he strode into the dining room, pretending that he hadn’t let her see, for just a moment, the uncertain, worried man behind the casual jokes and easy smile.

* * *

 

Poe sat in Cassian’s lap for the duration of the meal.

It was a rare concession and one the boy enjoyed immensely.

He leaned contentedly back against Cassian’s chest, sleepy and full. Cassian kept one hand wrapped around him as if frightened Poe would slip out from between his fingers and drift away. He ate quietly, face carefully blank as Jyn talked about the goings-on at the base, about how a door malfunction on the _Falcon_ had broken Han’s leg and left him pinned for over an hour before Kaytoo had heard his shouting from across the hangar and come to his reluctant rescue. The Pathfinders were, as a result, grounded for the foreseeable future, most of them having accumulated obscene amounts of long-overdue leave anyhow, which left her with a considerable amount of free time on her hands that she fully intended to enjoy.

This last was directed at Cassian, who blinked owlishly at her and quickly ducked his head again, returning with fierce concentration to the anemic stirring of his stew, which she’d ladled out for him as a half-portion and which remained as a half-portion in his bowl. Jyn glanced at Shara, who stood, beckoning for Poe, who had, in fact, fallen asleep against Cassian’s arm, drooling slightly.

“No, I’ll take him,” Cassian said abruptly, also standing. He cradled Poe carefully, wrapped him in his arms, and retreated down the hall to the nursery.

When the door had shut behind him, Jyn turned back to Shara with an expression of hopeless confusion.

Shara sat across from her with a faint smile that was somehow more reassuring than anything she could ever have said. Kes rose suddenly, as if remembering something, and snatched the wine bottle from the table just as the nursery door opened and shut again. Panicked for a moment, he froze, then sat with a thump, secreting the bottle beneath the table.

Cassian reappeared silently, smoothing back his hair with weary preoccupation.

“Thanks,” Shara said.

He nodded, lips twitching into a faint smile.

“So,” Kes said bluntly the moment Cassian was seated, “Shara and I were cleaning out some of her old things. Found some of her old Espo records.”

Cassian flinched, reaching for his glass, which he found was empty. He looked around for the wine bottle. Without breaking stride, Kes pushed his own, filled with water, across the table. Cassian glared.

“I think we need to teach Poe Espo too,” Kes continued with a shrug, “Heritage and all that, you know? Basic’s also just kind of boring.”

Cassian gripped the edge of the table, jaw clenched.

“Anyways,” Kes said, “How did all that stuff get off Fest in the first place?”

Cassian said nothing, turning to Shara instead.

“I have no idea,” she said, “I thought that crate was just my gear from that stint I did in the ASF when I first started out.”

“That record player,” Cassian said quietly, “was not yours.”

Jyn watched his hands tighten.

“It was a gift,” Shara replied evenly, meeting him in the eye, “My birthday. The day before we left.”

Cassian sat back, expression shuttered.

“The records?” he asked.

Shara shook her head.

“I never got the chance to look at them,” she said, “Before. It’s beyond me how they’ve made it all the way out here.”

Cassian reached for his glass again and stuttered halfway as if remembering something he expected was no longer there.

“So who did they belong to?” Jyn said, and she was frightened by how rough her voice was, “Originally.”

Cassian jerked his head towards her as if struck. In the grim flickering light of the lamp above, his face was mostly shadow, dark and unreadable.

“What?” he asked hoarsely.

“Who did those things belong to?” Jyn repeated, even though she knew the answer.

 _Don’t make me say it_ , his eyes said.

Jyn stared him down resolutely.

Cassian opened his mouth, a dry, cracking, popping sound.

“Tantim,” he rasped, “They were her things--Travia’s things, but she’d passed them down to Tantim.”

“So that’s you, then,” Jyn continued ruthlessly, “That’s you singing on the record.”

 _Please_.

Jyn pressed her lips together.

“Yeah,” he replied.

“And the boy.” Harshly.

Cassian swallowed, eyes fixed, unwillingly, on hers.

“My son,” he said.

Jyn did not blink.

“Okay,” she said.

His face tightened, brows drawing together.

They stared at each other.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

Jyn looked away at the bare, polished wood beneath her hands.

“Don’t say that,” she replied, strained.

He reached for her out of new instinct. Their hands brushed, and she looked up at him, surprised to find her uncertainty mirrored in his face.

“I didn’t know you sang,” she said, forcing a broken smile onto her face.

“I haven’t,” he replied, hand settling over hers, fingers filling her empty spaces, “Not in a long time.”

Jyn swallowed, looking back up at him.

“I’m--”

He tightened his hand around hers.

Foreign tears threatened to fall.

“Hey,” Kes said suddenly from across the table, “Guess what else I found in Shara’s closet.”

Shara convulsively clenched her hand around her spoon.

“I swear,” Kes continued, “That closet’s really the gift that keeps on giving.”

“ _Kes Dameron_ ,” Shara ground out, eyes closed, “I _swear_ \--”

“--Sorry,” Kes said, grinning at Cassian, who stared at him with a wide-eyed combination of confusion and embarrassment, “Were you two having a moment?”

“Fark you, Kes!” Jyn burst out, near-hysterical anger turning to laughter, drowning tears.

Shara buried her face in the palm of a hand, shaking her head.

“ _What!?_ ” Kes yelped, gesturing with exaggerated indignation, “You two looked like you were about to _cry_. I was just trying to lighten the mood a little!”

Cassian, very red in the face, yanked his hand back to his side, fiddling with the edge of his chair.

“I’m so sorry,” Shara moaned, eyes raised to the heavens, “My husband is a farking _child_.”

“You want to know what it is?” Kes continued loudly, grinning at them all when it became apparent Jyn wasn’t in serious danger of spearing him with her fork.

“ _No_ ,” Shara snapped.

“I think we should just get all this ‘painful reminders of the painful past’ stuff over with right now,” Kes said with a definite edge to his voice, “I don’t think going around being broody and mysterious is doing anyone any good.”

Cassian glared at him.

Ignoring this as well, Kes stood.

“I’ll be right back,” he said brightly, exiting via the kitchen.

In ensuing strained silence, Shara looked at them apologetically.

“Sorry,” she said, wincing, “But I do agree with him, at least for that last part.”

Cassian reached for his glass again and swore under his breath when he remembered it was empty, clenching his hand into a fist and shoving it into his pocket.

“What else,” he spat, “could you possibly have in there?”

Shara looked at him uncertainly.

“Honestly, it could be anything,” she said, “I haven’t looked at any of it since we moved off base--”

“--and obviously not at all when you were on base,” Kes finished, re-emerging from the kitchen, “Because I don’t know how you could possibly forget something like this.”

In his hand, he held a guitar case.

Cassian and Shara both made the same strangled sound.

Kes looked between the two of them, at their stricken faces.

“So,” he said, “What terrible, painful memories does this drum up?”

“Do you have _any_ idea--” Cassian snarled, lurching to his feet, “ _Any_ idea what you’re doing?”

“Kes--” Shara choked.

“-- _No_ ,” Kes snapped, temper flaring, “Of course I don’t have any idea.” He jabbed a finger at Jyn, “Neither does she! How could we _possibly_ know if you never talk about it, if we have to try and figure it out from the look on your face when we mention Fest or getting married or having kids?” Kes set the guitar case down with a thump. Cassian flinched. “If you don’t want to talk to me about it,” Kes said, “At least talk to _her_.” He gestured violently at Jyn again, who numbly turned to look up at Cassian. “Because you know what, Cass?” he stepped forward again, “You’re not the only one with dead, farked up family.”

Cassian twitched, the muscles in his jaw strained, fluttering. Uncertainty pooled in Jyn’s stomach. After an eternity, he turned jerkily to Shara.

“How do you have this?” he demanded, “The truth.”

Shara met his gaze unapologetically.

“Travia sent some things on to me when she heard my request to transfer to Yavin 4 had been approved,” she replied, “She knew that we’d been close.”

“All this time,” Cassian croaked.

“How many times have you told me you’d rather forget everything, that if there was a way for you to have gone back, you wouldn’t ever have wanted to meet her?” Shara replied, “I thought you’d moved on. You did everything you could to forget her; I didn’t want to bring it up again. Obviously, that was a mistake.”

Cassian made a deliberate fist on the table, bowing his head.

He’d closed his eyes, Jyn saw, turning them within, searching for--something. She put her hand over his, and he flinched, eyes searching out hers. She took comfort in the breath that rattled through his lungs.

When he stepped back, away from her, she thought he was gone.

Then, slowly, he rounded the table, passing Shara, who watched him with worried eyes, to Kes and the long, curved case at his feet. Wordlessly, Cassian crouched before it, hand outstretched, as if afraid to touch. He undid the four clasps carefully, lifting the lid with ghostly familiarity.

Jyn stood, drawn to his side. She counted as another breath rattled through his chest.

They watched as Cassian brushed his hands across the smooth body of the guitar, still sleek, still glowing, encased in soft velvet, untouched by time.

“This was her father’s,” Cassian said hoarsely, reaching for the neck and lifting the instrument from its case, “He taught her.” He stood, slinging the strap over his shoulders. “And she taught me.”

He reached down to the headstock, frowning in distant concentration as he tuned the rusty strings. Jyn watched his slender fingers move from string to string, watched the fine bones shift and rearrange beneath thin skin. He felt her eyes on him and glanced at her from under thick lashes. She saw that he was trembling.

“She and I used to sing,” he continued, voice thick, “Together. For the men, some nights. But mostly for ourselves.” He looked down at the imprint of a body in velvet. “She taught me her songs. I taught her mine.”

With his thumb, he strummed a chord.

Jyn shivered.

Cassian swayed towards her.

“We sang for--” he stumbled, “--for our son.” He looked down again, away from her. “He wouldn’t sleep otherwise, not even as a baby.” He strummed another chord, continuing the minor progression. “Her father had had an old record cutter, and she’d record me so when we were out in the field, our friends would have something to play to put Jeronimo to sleep.” He plucked a slow, descending baseline--the lullaby, Jyn realized. “Jeron,” Cassian repeated, slowly, the word foreign and heavy on his tongue. “His name was Jeron, but everyone called him Jeronimo. In Espo, it means ‘saved.’” His dark eyes distant now, peering deep into the past, Cassian strummed a short progression, strings squeaking beneath his fingers.

Jyn looked up at him, and he slowly lowered his eyes to meet hers.

“They died together,” he said, unraveling, untethered, “I was not there to protect them.”

His hands stilled, and he gripped the neck as a lifeline, struggling to moor himself in the sharp press of strings against his calloused palm. Jyn stepped closer to him, their eyes locked again, tightly, unwavering.

She grounded him without a touch.

Jyn leaned into him, and they were alone, just the two of them, breathing each other in, wholly alive and, for the first time, wholly at home.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m pushing off the Shara storyline for a bit. I decided this particular story, _Shore Leave_ , should remain what I wanted it to be, starting out--a series of loosely-related, defiantly Plot-less chapters looking at domestic life with our two favorite grumps.The Shara bit, however, is already mostly written, and it’ll probably go up as its own story within the _Chaconne_ series after I finish one of my three WIPs. Thanks for your patience!
> 
> This chapter's (lengthy) notes [here](https://ibohe.tumblr.com/post/159018236426/shore-leave-chapter-12).


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jyn and Cassian share a moment of reflection as they prepare to move into their new home on Yavin 4.

It was a strange thing, Jyn thought, _moving_.

In the past, moving had been her one constant--a spare change of clothes rolled up in her rucksack, her truncheon clasped securely at her side. She traveled light, and she traveled quick.

Now, however, she had _things_.

She watched as Cassian hauled another crate into the underbelly of the landspeeder he’d signed out for the day, grimacing and slamming the compartment door shut with a grunt.

“Is that everything?” he asked, wiping the sweat off his forehead with the back of his arm.

“I hope so,” she replied, frowning slightly, “I didn’t realize we had so much… stuff.”

He smiled crookedly at her.

“That’s one way to put it,” he said mildly.

She hid her wince with a glare.

In truth, she was a bit of a hoarder. It was a trait she’d cultivated early on, making something out of little to nothing at all and clinging to these nothings, these scraps and outcasts, knowing that eventually, they’d find a purpose.

Cassian had endured this with admirable restraint, only pointedly dropping small plastene storage containers down in front of her when their quarters had became so cluttered he’d tripped and fallen flat on his face on the way to the ‘fresher one early morning.

“If you’re going to keep all this _shaab_ ,” he’d said, tone carefully controlled, “At least keep it straight.”

He’d sat with her that night and helped her sort the datachips from the datacards, the blaster packs from the blaster parts, the balls of twine from the fishing wire (“ _Fishing wire?_ ” he’d said, eyebrows impressively contorted)--

And on and on.

As a result, she’d developed a surprisingly amicable relationship with the quartermaster, a terribly long-suffering old man who’d eventually come to turn to her when a quick fix was needed for something in short supply. If she didn’t have it, she could probably make something work, and if she couldn’t, Cassian could. She’d seen him solder the frayed ends of a plasma fuse together with a steady hand after three glasses of Corellian brandy.

She thought he’d have been a brilliant engineer--if he’d grown up without the war.

But now, the war was nearly over. Nearly, _nearly_ over. She could feel the Empire reeling, struggling to recoup in the aftermath of Endor and their Emperor’s destruction. Around her, the main hangar bay bustled, but it was a busy bustling, with none of the frantic hysteria that had marked her early days with the Rebellion.

Cassian stepped closer, brushing her hair aside with a questioning look.

“It’s weird,” she replied.

“What?”

“All this,” she gestured at the speeder loaded down with their belongings, “Moving. To a house.”

He followed her gaze, turning and squinting into the setting sun, its light catching the silver in his hair.

“Yeah,” he agreed, “It is.”

She wondered if he’d ever lived in a house.

He looked back at her, silently twining his fingers through hers

“So,” he said hoarsely, “Home.”

“Yeah,” she replied, smiling tentatively, “You ready to go?”

His smile was soft, but its edges were sharp. Slowly, gently, she pulled him in and rested her head against his chest.

His arms settled around her, warm, solid, and desperately alive.

He said nothing.

He didn’t need to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I left the chronology of this bit purposely vague, so this could be read as taking place either in the aftermath of Endor (immediately before _Alternatively, Together_ ) or... at some indeterminate point in the future.
> 
> Further notes [here](https://ibohe.tumblr.com/post/160818640251/shore-leave-chapter-13).


End file.
